


Polaroid Picture

by Tina0609



Category: Actor RPF, British Actor RPF, Tom Hiddleston Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Sweet Home Alabama Fusion, Dancing, Drunkenness, Eventual Romance, Exes, F/M, First Kiss, First Love, Memories, Old Friends, Returning Home, Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-25
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2019-08-29 06:44:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 21,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16739041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tina0609/pseuds/Tina0609
Summary: Tom Hiddleston left his life behind when he got casted as Loki in Thor. With his goal to make it big in Hollywood, there wasn't much time and space left for the people that cared about him. And now, being engaged to his model girlfriend, he needs to go back to Oxford to clear some things up. But it won't be that easy, because Elizabeth Lucas has always been a stubborn one.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Here we go! You'll soon realise (And without spoiling anything) that this was inspired by the beautiful movie that's Sweet Home Alabama.  
> Tom will be a bit different from what we know about him. What if he wasn't the down to earth British gentleman that stayed to do theatre and indie movies? What if he went to make it big in Hollywood, forgetting his roots along the way?  
> Leave me some feedback, I'd love to know what you think!

_Let go of the little distractions_  
_Hold close to the ones that you love_  
_Because we won't all be here this time next year_  
_So while you can take a picture of us_

_Take a Polaroid picture_  
_Take a picture of us to show_  
_We all want you to see where time goes_

_So in the stillness of the moment_  
_Make sure you take a Polaroid picture_  
_And keep it with you forever to_  
_Remind yourself that everything changes_  
_But there was this one time_  
_Man there was this one time_  
_When things were okay_

_Polaroid Picture by Frank Turner_

Tom is on his knee, his hand is sweaty and he’s probably never been this nervous in the past 35 years he’s been on this earth. Well. That’s not true. But he’s not been this nervous for the past ten years at least.

He looks up from his kneeling position to see Julia – his girlfriend – staring back at him, one hand on her mouth to hold in a (hopefully) excited squeal.

“Will you please marry me?” he repeats. He doesn’t even know what may take her so long. It’s not like this comes as a surprise. Not with the amount of hints she's dropped over the past year.

They’ve met at a Victoria's Secret Fashion Show he’s attended in 2014 and where she modelled. They'd hit it off pretty fast and strong. And here they are, in the summer of 2016, getting engaged.

Well. At least if she finally gives him an answer.

“Oh my God, Tom! Yes! Thank you! I will keep my last name, though. I’ve made a living being Julia Simons, and Hiddleston will always be linked to you.”

“Of course, babe.”

The ring he’s chosen is beautiful, diamonds glistening. And then it’s all a bit of a blur, the violins in the background and the other patrons in the restaurant clapping, Tom and Julia kissing.

Shit. He hasn't planned this far.

“Tom? Haven’t you been listening to me?” Julia asks one hour later from before him, frowning a bit.

“Sorry,” he answers. “I zoned out.”

She rolls her eyes at him. Not playfully but like she's really annoyed. Once, he loved that expression but it was on a different face and it was also a different time. Better not think of that now. Or maybe he actually should.

“Yeah, I know. You tend to do that.”

“Sorry. What was it you said?”

They’re in their New York apartment now. Both a little tipsy from the celebratory champagne and Julia's been talking like a maniac for the entire drive home from the restaurant.

“I’ve said,” she now continues, “that we should make an Instagram post. We should talk to Brian and Judy first, though.”

Brian and Judy are their publicists in the U.S. and are – of course – already informed. Tom wouldn’t have done this otherwise. He thinks of informing Luke, a once good friend and his first ‘Brian’ basically. But he decides against it now. He'll have to be in the UK soon anyway.

“And maybe our families,” he says. “Maybe we should go to my Mum's and Dad's. Tell them face to face.”

“Tom, you know I have the shootings and shows coming up in the next weeks. I don’t want to wait another month to make the announcement.”

Of course, Tom knows. He’s got quite a good idea of Julia’s schedule. That’s why he’s made that suggestion.

“Oh, sorry, babe. I forgot. Maybe I’ll go alone then? I haven’t seen Dad in ages anyway. We can skype to tell them together.”

“You don't want us to go together?”

“I want to tell them as fast as possible. That’s all. Maybe I’ll go to Oxford alone? And you’ll join me at Mum's? Suffolk will be even more beautiful next month.”

Julia nods. And then drops her dress, standing in front of Tom in her underwear, efficiently ending the conversation along with the slight panic that’s settled itself in Tom’s stomach.

* * *

  
“So, have you read the news today?” James Hiddleston asks from his spot at the kitchen table. He's a handsome man, even in his seventies, and he’s got a quiet demeanour around him, something his neighbours enjoy about him.

He’s still living in the house he’s moved to with his now ex-wife and their three children, still has most of his old friends and also still loves the young woman standing in front of the stove now, wiping her hands with a tea towel, as if she was his own daughter.

He's known her for almost her whole life, with her brother being best friends with his son. Or, they’ve been at least.

“Do you mean the world news, the important ones? Or the news everyone wants to tell me are important today?” Elizabeth Lucas asks, a sarcastic smile on her lips.

As a midwife she's naturally visited lots of young woman today, all of them telling her excitedly – and maybe a little carefully – how Tom Hiddleston, the Hollywood big shot who once lived in their little town, is now engaged to one of the most beautiful and famous women on the planet. Apparently, they’ve announced it in an Instagram post.

She loves her job, really. It’s often busy, it’s often hectic and sometimes risky. But it’s always worth it in the end. Bringing new life into the world is a nice goal to work towards to, isn’t it?

She’s once wanted that for herself. Still does, actually, 32 is by no means too old for that. But you’d at least need to have some kind of partner for that, wouldn’t you?

A quiet chuckle from James has her look up. “I did mean the not-so-important ones I guess.”

“I saw that, yes. Nice for him. Good. I'm happy.”

“When do you think he’ll be here?”

She shrugs. “Why would he come here? I guess you and Diana both know now. And he guesses that as well, I suppose.” Seeing James's raised brows, she sighs. “What?”

“You know what, Elizabeth Lucas.”

“He’s been the only one once, who's still called me that, even when it wasn’t true anymore.”

“Yeah, well. I’m afraid you’ll have to get used to that again.”

“Have been used to it for the past five years.”

James gives her a look that makes her eyes sting and her skin tingle. So, she grabs her bag that’s been sitting on the counter.

“I’m sure he’ll come. He won’t do that by letter.”

“He’s had a few years time to come here and get everything cleared up,” Elizabeth says as she walks to the kitchen door. “I hope he'll continue to have the best time.”

When she closes the front door behind her, Elizabeth almost believes her own words.

* * *

  
Okay. That didn’t quite go according to plan, Tom thinks to himself as he drives his rental car down the M40 to get to his father’s place in his old hometown he hasn't visited for the past six years.

Somehow his excited girlfriend – fiancée, he corrects himself – decided to post a picture anyway. And now he’s heading to Oxford, though he hoped he could tell the news himself without anyone knowing. His family and former friends and people he once cared about don’t know a lot of him these days.

So yes, maybe the fame was more important to him than visiting his family. His father in Oxford, his mother in the small town on the Suffolk coast and his sisters with their families in London. Not even during press tours.

But they could have come to New York and Los Angeles as well, couldn’t they?

He’ll have more time for that in the future. Right now, he’s got more important matters to care for.

He glances at the envelope sitting on the passenger seat. Tom needed a bit of time to get used to driving on the left side of the road again. But then again, he’s been driving since he was 18. It’s not that hard.

He parks his rental BMW in front of the old Lucas residence. There's a sling in the garden and a slide too as far as Tom can see. He frowns. Maybe Matt has children now and the grand parents decided it would be nice to have something nice for them when they visit?

Or Matt moved in? But then again it was a bit crowded with Libby in the apartment on the first floor. He’s not sure, though it was big enough at the time.

He’s nervous again for the second time this week. But it’ll be over soon and then he can go to London and do some business and meet some actor friends and wait for Julia to come, too.

Right now he’s out of the car and moves to the front door of the house he’s known so well.

He rings the bell and a few seconds later a child opens the door, a woman he doesn’t know right behind her. So, maybe that’s Matt's wife?

“Uh, hullo?” the woman asks.

“Yes. Hi. Is Libby there?”

“Uhm. There's no Libby living here. Just us.”

“Oh. But this is the Lucas place?” How did he not know this? Where else would she be, if not here?

“It was. But we bought it last year, after the mother died.” Oh, shit. Libby’s mother is dead? “Her husband is gone too, both had cancer, it must have been hard on their children,” the woman rambles on. “Oh!” she then says, making Tom jump slightly. “You meant Beth? Sorry, she’s called Beth around here. She's living over there,” she points behind Tom. “In the Johnson's house. Rents herself a small flat.”

Before the woman can talk on, Tom says a quick thank you and leaves.

He rings the other bell and then waits. And then he sees her as she opens the door.

She scoffs and shakes her head, her brown eyes twinkling in the way he’s used to. Or has been used to know. She's wearing jeans and a simple shirt, filling it out a bit more than that last time Tom saw her all those years ago.

“You've got some nerve, Tom. Coming here.”

“You still haven’t signed.” There. Straight to business. Let her sign and then leave again.

“You never got my new address. So. That’s not my fault. Leave it on the doorstep or something.”

She turns to leave. “Stop trying to walk out on me, Lucas!” he calls after her as she closes the front door to his face.

With great satisfaction Tom notices Libby coming back to the door, ripping it open again. “You've started the ‘walking out on people’-business, Hiddleston. And stop calling me ‘Lucas’. That's not the name that’s been on my passport for the past decade.”

"Well, it will be again."

“Until I sign the papers, just call me Hiddleston.”

With that, she indeed closes the door in his face for the second time, leaving him stunned.

Tom sighs. So, maybe he should after all visit his father first and come back later, when his wife – or soon-to-be ex-wife – will have come to her senses again.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everybody comes to Hollywood  
> They wanna make it in the neighborhood  
> They like the smell of it in Hollywood  
> How could it hurt you when it looks so good 
> 
> Hollywood by Madonna

„She's being an unreasonable child,“ Tom says, sitting in his father’s kitchen for the first time in years. „She can just sign those stupid papers, and I’ll be gone again.“

His father sits opposite Tom, a mug of tea in front of him, his brows drawn together a bit. Tom knows that look. He may have not been here for awhile, but he still knows his dad.

“You can’t wait to go back to New York, can you?”

As he answers, Tom decides to ignore the tone in James's voice. “I’m going to London next, actually. Chris and his wife are currently spending time there. And I need it a little busier than...”

“...here?” James finished for him. “Yeah, you’ve made that clear.”

Tom rolls his eyes. His father’s always had that thing about him. Never raising his voice, but still making it undoubtedly clear just how disappointed he was. He’s still doing it, apparently.

“I’m sorry, but Oxford doesn’t offer much except a little bit of culture and the university.”

“And your friends, part of your family. Oh, and your wife.”

“Ex-wife,” Tom is quick to answer and ignores the pang that shots through his chest.

“Oh,” James repeats drily and then takes a sip of his tea. “Did she sign those papers you’re so eager to get rid of?”

His own father is mocking him now, isn’t he? And then his family wonders why he’s never coming to visit anymore. And of course, he’s eager to get a divorce. He’s engaged to Julia, who doesn’t even know that Libby – Elizabeth, maybe Tom should not feel that familiar with her – exists. Nobody outside of this town does, really. And most of them probably think they’ve been divorced long ago, when Tom left to go to Los Angeles, not taking Elizabeth with him. Ah, well. So Brian knows as well. Always being prepared as a publicist and all that.

“Don't you miss her at all?”

The words pull Tom out of his thoughts. He doesn’t even hesitate, before he answers. Why would he?

“Of course not.” He huffs. “I’m engaged. We’ve been over for years.”

“Why did you never get a divorce then?”

Tom sighs. There's James, sitting smugly opposite him, asking questions that aren’t even his concern. Tom’s not the boy anymore that fell in love with a girl from his town. He’s not 18, he’s 35.

“I’ll go to my room.” Okay, so he isn’t a boy anymore, and Tom sees the irony of that statement paired with him being stuck to sleep in his old room until these freaking papers are signed and he can go to his own home in London. It’s not like he wants to spend his time travelling back and forth between towns.

His dad actually snorts at that. “It's still where you left it.”

It indeed is, Tom realises when he’s made his way upstairs and walks into his room at the end of the corridor. He doesn’t look inside the rooms that used to be his sisters'. But he suspects that they’re here far more often than he is. So they’re probably staying in their respective rooms. Tom wonders a bit, if they maybe use his room for when his nieces stay at the house as well. Or do they still sleep with their parents?

Tom ignores the strange feeling in his gut he gets thinking about his sisters and their families and the lack of knowledge he’s got about their lives.

His room is still painted in midnight blue. His bed is on the far side of the room, his desk and bookshelf on the other side. There are even some books still in there which he left when he moved to the States.

He walks over, smiling a bit at the sight of his copy of The Jungle Book and the well read through Cymbeline. He loved performing and touring for that. Elizabeth visited him in Madrid and of course came to the London performances. Just as she came to the Othello press night. Tom grins a bit thinking about what an excited boy he'd been that night.

She was a great support in his earlier years. There's no denying that. Tom knows he owns her a lot. But she didn’t quite understand that a small-town life not even in the centre of Oxford wasn’t how you could get your Hollywood career started.

He sighs, moves to the bed and then sits on the edge. So, he waits.

* * *

Libby is pacing her living-room. No, not just pacing. Stomping. Fuming. How dare he? How can Tom come back here after more than five years of silence and drop the divorce papers in her lap?

Or, trying to, because she’s closed the door on him.

She’s known this day would come for awhile. Libby may still live in their hometown, but she's by no means the 15-year-old girl that fell in love with her big brother’s best friend.

She’s 32 and a well accomplished midwife, thank you very much. And she’s not stupid, hasn’t been at 15 either.

But the first year she at least thought that maybe Tom didn’t like the fame and the life in Hollywood as much as her – and his family. They all were wrong after all.

She’s met Tom when his family moved to Oxford. He was in boarding school, but there on the weekends, playing with her big brother, Matt. They must have thought she was so annoying. Though, maybe not as much as Tom’s little sister, Emma. His older sister Sarah sometimes played along as well.

Libby can’t help the smile on her face as she remembers how Sarah always wanted to play the Queen or the mother or any other grown-up role she could think of. They often played with the Hiddleston cousins as well, Tom somehow always ending up playing the villain. Go figure.

They got closer when Tom was 12 and sent to Eton around the same time his parents got divorced. His mother moved in another house, but stayed in Oxford, making it easier for her children to see both of their parents whenever they came home from their respective boarding schools.

Libby did everything with the boys and then developed a crush. And then – at 15 – during a classic and oh so typical game of spin the bottle she kissed Tom. It was her first kiss and awkward and with too much tongue, but it didn’t help her crush one bit.

She was mortified and didn’t talk to him until he came back home the next time. Asking her to be his girlfriend.

It was a natural process, not much changed except Matt telling his best friend, he'd do anything for him, but would skin him alive, if Tom ever hurt Libby.

They stayed together during Cambridge and then went to London together, Tom to attend RADA and Libby to go to school to first become a nurse and then a midwife.

He asked her to marry him after RADA, when he got his first job. He could support them and with her first job in the hospital they could rent a flat that fit them both. They didn’t have a big wedding, but a nice one. Everyone was happy for them, their friends and families had enormous fun. They were happy.

She’d been to his first plays and went to locations with him. And she'd also been his biggest supporter when he got to play with Ken in theatre and tv and especially when he casted Tom as Loki.

Libby actually was with Tom when he got the call. They sat on the pavement for half an hour afterwards and then went and celebrated with their friends.

And then Tom went to Los Angeles to shoot Thor. He was excited whenever he called, being on his first big movie set. And Libby was happy for him. The boy she'd fallen in love with finally could do what he'd always dreamt of since they’d gone to the theatre together or the movies, watching dinosaurs and Shakespeare on the big screen.

And then he stopped calling quite so often, and Libby understood that as well. He was supposed to be bonding with his co-stars after all, enjoying that experience without a nagging wife at home. Especially with being not even 30 years old.

It was when he announced that it was best for his career to stay in the States that things went downhill. Libby didn’t want to go there. Of course, there were babies being born outside of London and Oxford as well – something that Tom as well told her time and time again.

But living in Los Angeles was never something that Libby envisioned for herself, or for her life with Tom.

Eventually, he stopped trying to convince her and she stopped trying to make him stay. He would come back every now and then after all. It was not just Libby still living here.

But he enjoyed the sweet life of success a bit too much and didn’t come home at all. And then it became clear that maybe they’d just been together for too long. Maybe Tom wanted something else after being tied to her for ten years – almost all of his 20s. And what was Libby supposed to do about it?

In the end, she was glad she hadn’t gone. She would have been sad, and Tom wouldn’t have cared either way.

It was just hard to admit. And it was even harder seeing him living his life without her. Becoming some cool action star and having all those famous friends, new public relations guys and – that hurt the most – girlfriends who looked way better and more glamourous than Libby.

With a sigh Libby realises that she's been standing in front of her bookshelf way too long, letting thoughts take over that she hasn't had in so many years.

She’s happy here. She's living her life, and though she can’t forget she's married – something Tom doesn’t seem to have a problem with at all – she’s never looked back with regret. She’d never change a thing about her past, either. She loved him and for ten years she had the best life imaginable. And she would get there again eventually.

With another sigh, Libby grabs her copy of The Jungle Book from the shelf, places it on her couch and goes to the kitchen to make herself a cup of tea, before settling in the living-room trying to let her favourite book take the dark clouds in her mind away.

* * *

Not far up the street, Tom is still on his bed, this time with one of his once favourite books in hand. He’s forgotten how to read an actual book a bit. He’s mostly reading scripts these days, and though he can immerse himself in the world of Mowgli and Baloo, he’s suspecting there’s some sort of director's note on every single page.

He’s used to read it together with Libby in the little barn in the field that didn’t look like much from the outside but was way more comfortable on the inside. But he shouldn’t think about that.

It’s not helping that his jet lag is fast approaching and that all this small-town flair is catching up with him, making him miss his busy life and most importantly his fiancée more and more.

With a sigh Tom turns on his side, letting the book drop on the floor with a thud. As he grabs for his mobile, he realises it’s the perfect time to call New York and then succumb to sleep.

One floor down in the living-room, James his dialling a number he doesn’t call much but more often than some other divorced couples would call.

“Ah, Diana,” he starts as the woman on the other side of the line picks up, “Have you heard the news? Your son is back in town.”


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom is annoying, and Beth still knows him better than she wants to admit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that it's been a while. But work was so busy that all I wanted to do in the evening was to sleep. But now, here we are! Please, enjoy, and maybe tell me what you think :)

Elizabeth is still fuming the next day as she prepares to leave for work. The reading yesterday didn’t help one bit, and she’s sure at some point during the night the Johnsons living in the flat beneath her were ready to strangle her and tell her to stop pacing.

How dare he? How fucking dare he? How dare he come here after years and tell her to sign those stupid papers when he hasn’t cared for the past five years? And just because he wants to get married again she now has to sign?

It’s not like she cares.

Why would she? Because she wasn’t good enough to make him come back? Or not good enough to make compromises? Or because someone else seems to be better for Tom than her?

No, she doesn’t care. At all.

What she does care about though, is getting to work in time. It’s not a big town and the GP surgery she’s been working at for the past four years since returning from London is a 15-minute-walk away.

So, Beth gulps down her coffee and grabs a banana to eat on the way, before she puts on a light jacket and grabs the scrubs she’ll need for the day.

She’s running down the stairs – as quiet as possible to minimise the chances of Claudia Johnson asking questions – and sighs with relief when she makes it out of the door.

It’s short-lived however, because she recognises the car that’s parked across the street. This time it’s not just the sight of her former family home that sends a pang of sorrow through her heart.

This time the man who’s getting out of the car contributes to that.

She’s rolling her eyes so hard she’s sure she’ll get a headache before her day has properly started. Then she turns right and starts down the street without giving Tom the satisfaction of another glance in his direction.

“You can’t ignore me forever, Libby,” Tom calls after her as she just walks on.

When she hears steps behind her, Beth stops for a moment. But then she simply shakes her head and resumes her pace.

“Don't talk to me,” she mumbles, but he’s too far behind her to actually hear.

Or maybe not, because the next moment the steps get faster, and before she even has the time to realise what that means, Tom is next to her, huffing a bit. “Don’t be like that.”

“Ha! Don't be like that... you've got some nerve, Hiddleston. Leave me alone.” She walks faster.

“Sorry. Can’t do that,” he says as he moves with her. “Where are you going?”

“To work.”

“Where is work?”

“Why do you care?”

Beth risks a glance to her side, looking at Tom, who's looking straight ahead. He’s gotten better at hiding it, but she can still read him like a book and knows when he’s nervous. His right brow is set a little lower and he smacks his lips twice. As she looks down, Beth can also see Tom’s right hand tightening into a fist and then loosen twice.

Ha. He’s not as calm, cool, and collected as he wants to make her believe then.

The triumph turns into something else immediately, sending a shiver through her body. Beth doesn’t want to know him anymore. It’s not her duty to care or read him anymore. He’s got someone else to do that now.

“Well,” Tom starts after a while, startling Beth and making her realise she's been lost in her own thoughts. “I thought to myself, how could I make you sign those stupid papers.” Beth rolls her eyes at that. “And I realised that I’ve always been quite good at getting what I wanted, if I just could make you annoyed with me.”

Beth huffs. “I’ve been annoyed with you for the past five years. And I’ve known you for quite a while. I don't think there’s anything you can annoy me with anymore.”

She regrets her words immediately. Because no, she’s also not forgotten how much Tom loves a challenge. And the grin tells her all.

“Hm,” he says, “interesting.”

Beth starts walking a little faster now. And Tom still matches her pace. “Tom,” she growls, “what are you doing?”

“Still walking with you.”

It makes her stop so abruptly that Tom almost walks straight into her. “You can’t really be serious.” He can’t.

Tom just shrugs. “Why not?”

“Well, first of all, there are tons of pregnant women there who should not get heart attacks from Tom Hiddleston participating in their examinations,” Beth huffs and ignores Tom’s smug grin. What is he grinning about anyway? In all of this Beth never denied that he’s extremely famous with lots of fans. “And second, you’re a stranger. You can’t listen in on those talks, there's confidential information.”

“Pf. I’ll just say I’m preparing for a role. Playing an English doctor. They’ll be fine.”

She shakes her head. He’s impossible! For a brief moment Beth thinks back to the old times. Has Tom always thought he could just get away with everything? That he’s God's gift to the world? That a little bit of a million dollar, charming smile can get him everything he wants?

No, she decides a moment later. And that ‘no’ goes for both. No, he used to work hard for something that he wanted, and no, she should not think about that.

“You’re a shit liar, Tom. There's no way they’ll believe you.”

Instead of looking at least a little guilty or chagrined, Tom just grins and even looks proud of himself. “I’m an actor, Libby.”

She scoffs. “Yes. Doesn’t make you good at lying, though.”

But maybe he’s also gotten better at that, she thinks to herself as she prepares herself for the day.

* * *

Beth is having the worst day ever. Really. She is. Of course, Tom didn’t back off. And of course, each and every single one of the women squealed and screamed and was very eager for Tom to be there in the room with them.

And he has indeed got better at lying. Beth hates to admit she’s disappointed she's found that out.

Obviously, she can still tell. She also hates that she notices that.

“So it is true?” The piercing scream takes Beth back to the present and into the examination room. She looks at Tom, who squirms and looks rather uncomfortable.

The outburst belongs to Mary, a woman eight months pregnant, who’s looking at Tom like she's just won the lottery. Beth can’t blame her, but she would still like to keep her hearing intact.

Again, Beth sees how Tom smacks his lips and tightens his hand into a fist. Not so good at lying after all, huh?

“What is true, Darling?” he asks in a smooth voice, though Beth can hear a slight tremble in it. She also sees the tightness around his eyes.

He’s not nervous, she realises. He's afraid. He's got on her nerves all day with all those women lusting over him, and him being all smug about it. And now he’s suddenly afraid?

Beth looks from him to Mary and then she realises why he’s not himself anymore – or himself for the first time today? Oh. Oops.

Her patient looks excitedly from Tom to Beth and back. Oh, indeed. She's heard something about the two of them, hasn’t she? Many people know the history, heard from their parents or relatives. But those are all people who have lived here all their lives. They would never tell anyone outside of town anything about the private life of the – to be fair – most famous citizen.

Mary is new, though, she’s moved here maybe two years ago. Has she heard something while going shopping? Overheard maybe some neighbours some time?

The tension rises, and Beth can feel herself getting nervous as she sees Tom’s hand trembling a bit and a small flicker in his eyes as well.

She almost reaches out a hand to loosen Tom’s fist, but drags it back when Mary speaks up again.

“That a Hollywood star is in town of course!”

Beth suppresses the laugh that bubbles up inside her. She also feels the tension leaving Tom’s body in one big sigh. But he’s still not saying anything, his jaw is tense and Beth swears she can almost hear him swallowing.

So, she does what a good wife should do, and in her head she shakes her head at herself. She's moving a little closer to Tom, positioning herself a bit in front of him.

“Tom is in town to do research for a role mostly. And yes, it fits that his dad still lives here. But please, he’s just...” Beth stops herself from getting too suspiciously protective. “...I think his family would appreciate it, if there weren’t any fangirls in front of the house. I think you can understand?”

Mary nods, almost shy now. “Of course. It’s just so exciting to see him,” she looks at Tom, “to see you in a small town like this.”

“Well,” he’s all smooth now, and Beth almost rolls her eyes, “I was raised here after all.”

“Yeah,” Beth interrupts, before he can talk more nonsense and raise her patient's blood pressure. “Let’s check you out now, Mary, alright?”

* * *

“Thank you,” Tom whispers half an hour later. He doesn’t know what happened there, but his body went all stiff for a moment.

Okay. That’s a lie. Tom totally knows what happened. He was terrified someone new would find out and gossip about him. Him and the reason he really is in town now.

Somehow Beth is a better actress than he’s always given her credit for.

“What do you mean?”

“Not signing the papers, obviously,” he can’t help but quip. She’s still just as stubborn as he remembers. Even one day of constant teasing and annoying her hasn’t brought him any further. “For making the story believable.”

Libby – yes, Tom refuses to call her by any other name – looks up from the papers she's been signing. His breath stutters for a moment from the intensity he sees in the brown colour he’s loved so much.

She sighs, and shakes her head a little. “You know,” she starts, then puts the papers aside and walks to her office once more. Tom’s confused. Her office hours are over as far as he knows. “Two people in a marriage tend to do that. Standing with each other. Supporting each other.” Before she closes the door, he stops for a moment. “Good night, Tom.”

He stares after her. What the hell? He almost wants to walk in there and talk to her some more. Is she trying to make him feel bad?

But the ringtone of his mobile interrupts his thoughts, and Tom sighs as he picks it out of his pocket. Oh goodness.

“Hi, mum.”

“You’re in Oxford I hear?”

He starts pacing. He doesn’t know why, but something about talking to his mother makes him even more nervous than he’s been half an hour ago. And indefinitely more nervous than anytime he’s been on stage. The only time he’s been even more unsure was when he proposed to Libby all those years ago. He ignores that thought.

“Who told you? Dad, or Libby?”

“Your father called me. So, tell me about that fiancée of yours I’ve never met. Which we should change, by the way. When are you coming up here?”

Tom sighs. Then he looks at the closed office door, turns and decides to try again tomorrow. He can’t deal with two infuriating women at once. Next he knows, Emma and Sarah are going to call as well probably.

So, he leaves the surgery and settles for telling Diana (not) everything about Julia. He’d like to have at least one family member on his side in this.


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The most awkward family dinner in the history of family dinners.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's Finchyxpanic's birthday tomorrow, and she misses these two. So, I thought, why not give her an early present?

„What the heck, Dad?“ Tom hisses a few days later at James, who’s leaning against the counter in his kitchen way too comfortably. In the dining room he can still hear the soft murmurs of the two voices he didn’t expect when his father’s suggested they ‘should have a roast on Friday night’.

Libby's not been talking to him for the past three days, and now Tom’s supposed to have a lovely dinner with her and Matt? His wife – ex-wife – and his used-to-be best friend Matt?

The two siblings look like they belong there in James’ house. And Tom? He seems to be a guest.

Okay, he’s not been home for any meals these past days since he’s gotten here. But he thought... well, he thought that maybe his father wanted to talk. Maybe catch up? And now Libby's there, her brother looks like he considers killing Tom slowly and painfully, and Tom can’t walk out without looking like a massive jerk.

Okay, more of a jerk than he already seems to be seen as here.

“You wanted to talk to her, didn’t you?” James has got that stupid smile on his face that Diana swears Tom inherited. He’s never believed her.

Tom scoffs. “What, you think this is the right time to possibly discuss a divorce? She didn’t want to talk to me before, why would she do now?”

James’s smirk grows, as does Tom’s anger. “I never said you should talk about the divorce, son,” he says. “Maybe it would do you some good, if you actually talked to her. You know? Ask her how she's doing? Sometimes those little, nice conversations work wonders.”

With that James walks past Tom, turning around in the doorway before leaving for the dining room. “You don't have to stay, if you don’t want to. You’re a free man and this is a free country. But this is my house, and if you can’t behave like a grown-up, I’ll throw you out.”

Then, he’s gone. And Tom stares at the spot his father’s just vacated for a few moments, before he lets out a frustrated growl and paces the floor.

His heart is thudding heavily in his chest and his hands tug at the ends of his hair. This is madness. He should just leave. They can’t be in the same place for more than a few minutes without arguing. And that’s just him and Libby. Tom doesn’t even want to think about Matt.

And then he stops pacing. What is he even doing? What is Libby even doing? This is the house Tom grew up in. She’s got no right to drive him out of his own house. Well, his father’s house. No, Tom decides with a huff. He’s not going to give her that satisfaction.

Sending a quick text to Julia, promising to call later in the evening when the dinner with his father – just James, because Julia obviously doesn’t know there’s anyone else here in the house, or Tom's life for that matter – is over, he takes a deep breath and leaves for the dining room.

* * *

He’s missed so much. Tom’s known that, you can’t stay away for five years and expect that everything will be the same when you come back. But he didn’t realise just how much he’s missed.

Matt is not living in Oxford anymore. He’s moved to Birmingham two years ago, owning his own construction firm, being quite successful with it. He has a girlfriend, but hasn’t asked her to marry yet. Not that Tom particularly cares about that, but James is chatty this evening.

Tom also now knows that Matt still manages to drive to Oxford every two weeks.

Yes, he gets it. But Birmingham is closer than New York. Thank you very much.

And then there’s the fact that both Mr and Mrs Lucas died in the past year. Tom actually swallows heavily at the news he’s heard a few days prior but that haven’t hit home until Matt talks about it, and Tom sees how Libby swallows, casting her eyes downward, munching on her piece of roast.

“I’m sorry,” Tom says. It’s stupid. But what else is there to say?

“It's not your fault,” Libby mumbles.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there.”

Matt cuts in at that point. Tom’s a bit surprised to be honest. He hasn’t been prepared for Matt giving him a harder time than Libby. Or maybe he has.

“We sent you invitations to the funerals. Maybe they’ve been lost in the fan mail.”

The silence is heavy until James clears his throat. “You’ve both been very brave. It wasn’t easy.”

They continue to eat in silence. This is the strangest dinner Tom’s ever attended. Maybe he should just go to his room?

But no. That’s exactly what he doesn’t want. Being send away by those two. Because again, he feels like he’s 20, not quite grown-up but somehow listening to his parents’ advice when visiting. Which he and Libby did a lot at that time. Well, what Libby obviously still does.

“What about the house?” Tom asks instead, seeing from the corner of his eyes how James shakes is head slowly. What? He’s supposed to make conversation, isn’t he?

“It'd be too big to live there alone,” Libby mumbles, and Matt adds, “And with my business in Birmingham, I can’t just come and live here.”

“Plus, a house isn’t cheap in maintenance,” James adds as Tom feels himself nodding along.

“Well, from the money you’d get in a divorce, you could surely buy the house back,” he hears himself mumbling next and then there’s silence.

Silence before two voices talk at once. “Are you fucking crazy bringing up the divorce now? How is that even related? Is there anything you do or say anymore that isn’t calculated? You really made me think you cared just two minutes ago.” – Matt, and finally just an exasperated “Tom,” from his father. Libby remains strangely quiet. Tom looks over at her, seeing how she stares down at her plate, chewing on her meat slowly, deliberately.

He sighs. Honestly, this time he’s got no idea himself why he’s brought it up. And he knows that it's not appropriate. He knows he should have kept his mouth shut, and he definitely knows he’s fucked up. Again. Tom closes his eyes.

“I’m...,” he starts, trying to meet Libby's gaze again, but this time she does speak up, and interrupts him.

“Just don't say anything. And please just leave him be,” she addresses James and Matt. “We know why he’s here, so that shouldn’t be surprising.” She closes her eyes and then looks up at Tom. He ignores his father and brother-in-law and focuses on his ex-wife instead. “I’m trying to have a nice Friday night, could we do this tomorrow?”

Tom nods, more to himself than Libby. “Yeah, I’m...”

“Just shut up,” she grumbles, before he can say any more.

Maybe he’s just tired of this situation, Tom thinks. Maybe he shouldn’t have come here at all. Just let Brian find a good lawyer, found out Libby's current address, and then had the papers send to her with a time limit for signing. But no, now he’s here in his old house with memories everywhere. In the house where be grew up in with the garden he shared his first kiss with the woman currently sitting in front of him.

Along with the other people he hasn’t seen in quite some time. With two men who look like they want to punch him. At this point, Tom would gladly let them. For being so stupid. Not just for coming here, but also for the many ridiculous things that left his mouth these last couple of days.

It’s almost like he can’t help himself around Libby. Beth. Lucas. Whatever. She's always talked back at him. Supported him, of course, but didn’t take shit from him, either.

Maybe he’s gotten too used to life in Hollywood? Where everyone makes sure he’s well looked after? Maybe he thought Libby's changed just as he has? For the better, of course. He’s grown up, right? Got his career started and saw the world. She's not grown that much. But maybe he should not say that right now.

So, amidst the sounds of eating and cutlery and crockery being used, Tom is silent, hoping this evening will end fast enough for him making a call to Julia that he desperately needs. Not that he can tell her anything that’s actually going on.

* * *

“So, what do you say,” Matt starts when the plates have been cleared away, “Tom, will you join us at the pub tonight?”

Beth almost chokes on the gulp of wine in her mouth, but manages to swallow before any accidents can occur. To his credit, Tom looks just as shocked as Beth feels, even going slightly pale as far as she can see.

“Oh, I don’t think...” Tom starts, and Matt seems to be on a roll.

“Well, I think. It’s a great idea. You want Beth to talk to you? You want to be treated as an adult and not a child? Get involved, see your friends. Former friends. Maybe show that you care a bit. Works great for you when you’re going to galas and charity events all over Hollywood.”

Matt smirks, and Beth knows what he’s doing. But taunting Tom has never worked well. He'll just get competitive, and Beth can already see the three of them sitting in the pub they’ve used to frequent regularly when they were younger and Tom and her still in love.

James clears his throat. “I think a night out could work wonders,” he winks and then stands up from the table. “I’ll be in front of the TV. Don't be too loud coming back home.”

As Tom and Beth stare after him, Matt chuckles. “What do you say, Tom? Are you in?”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

Thank goodness, one more person aside from her at this table that actually has some common sense.

“I can’t be seen here out and about. People will see me and they’ll tell, and then the paparazzi will appear and there goes the peace and quiet.”

Matt snorts at the same time as Beth can’t help but mumble, “What peace and quiet?”

Really now? That’s his reason? He thinks people will care that much for him being in a pub in a small town? That’s how he’s living his life in America now, isn’t it?

Okay. So, Tom’s competitive. Well, unfortunately, Beth is too. “Who would tell, Tom? The beekeeper that served you your first legal beer? The one that cleaned after your first legal ‘I’m Tom, and I can drink all of you under the table’?. Or your friends that have never spoken about you before, even when some media called when you first became famous?”

Tom's silence just eggs her on, along with the barely concealed exasperation in his eyes. “If that’s what your life in Hollywood is like with your new friends, maybe they’re the problem, not the people you’ve grown up with here.”

Beth feels Matt’s eyes darting from her to Tom, but hers don’t leave the man on the other side of the table while she takes a sip from her wine glass to hide a smile.

Tom stands up, head held high, a smirk playing around his lips. “I’m getting changed, I’ll be down in five minutes.”


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And after all  
> You're my Wonderwall

This has been such a bad idea from the beginning, now -- in hindsight -- Beth can see that. It’s not like she cares much whether Tom has fun or not. Really, she doesn’t. But if he’s not having fun, why can’t he just walk away instead of ruining her mood?

Hers and their – well, mostly also just her – friends’ moods as well. Because he’s been rather annoying these past two hours. Not because he does anything. He’s doing nothing. That’s the bigger problem.

When Matt and her greeted Steph, Liesa, Daniel, and Will they were stunned. Beth saw that but simply shrugged, and rolled her eyes.

So, they just shot her curious looks, greeted Tom like the old friend he probably was for them, and got ready to get the first round of drinks.

Now, Tom’s been staring into his beer for two hours – well, several beers – looking like he’s contemplating drowning in it.

Well, Beth can help with that. She’d gladly drown him. Water, beer, something stronger – doesn’t matter.

She's been trying to ignore his mood for the entire night now. He looks like he’s hiding something. Or actually hiding from someone?

She gets it. It’s not his usual Hollywood go-to place but just a pub he frequented together with her years ago. But damn. They aren’t bad people here. And actually, she thinks she knows what he’s doing.

“You know,” she starts, loud enough for Tom to hear her from the other side of the table, but low enough for the others not to. She takes a sip of her Guinness just when she sees Tom looking at her with raised eyebrows. “You don't have to hide from anyone here. Nobody will tell they’ve seen you.”

“I’m not hiding,” he grumbles. “I’m simply...bored.”

“Go, then,” Beth hisses. “Honestly. Just go. Nobody forced you to come here. You proved your point. We’re all below you, and you’re very brave for even spending some of your time with us. You can go now. I’ll be having more fun without you anyway.”

Really, she should have suspected what’s coming next. She’s egged him on now, hasn’t she?

“Oh?” Now, it’s Tom taking a sip of his drink, staring back at her. “What kind of fun will you be having later? Thinking you’re still in your 20s? Dancing on tables, singing along, dancing with every boy in the pub?”

She actually snorts. They’d been doing that together once. Just that she didn’t dance with every boy in the pub. At least, she just went home with one.

“It’s called having fun. Letting loose. You used to be fun, Tom.”

Just as Beth sees Tom open his mouth for what he probably thinks is a clever retort, the atmosphere in the pub changes. Before she knows it – and the look on Tom’s face says it all as well – the crowd starts to sing a very familiar tune.

_Slip inside the eye of your mind_   
_Don't you know you might find_   
_A better place to play_   
_You said that you'd never been_   
_But all the things that you've seen_   
_Will slowly fade away_

Of course, this would start now. Of course, that's what they’re playing. The song they’ve heard in their youth. The song they’ve listened to a thousand times – and sang along to it.

But not today. They’re staring at each other, both of them swallowing their drinks.

_So I start a revolution from my bed_   
_'Cause you said the brains I had went to my head._   
_Step outside, summertime's in bloom_   
_Stand up beside the fireplace_   
_Take that look from off your face_   
_You ain't ever gonna burn my heart out_

Beth tunes out the other pub goers. She ignores Liesa and Daniel screaming in her ears and how they raise their beers when the chorus starts.

It’s stupid letting an Oasis song get into her head now, isn’t it? Beth swallows a last mouthful of her beer, puts her glass down, and stares at it.

It’s been years.

Beth glances up. She shouldn’t be surprised to see Tom staring back at her. He swallows heavily, but they both can’t seem to look away.

Is it hot in here?

“Sing along!” Liesa screams in Beth's ear, breaking the bond between Tom and her. Wait. Bond? What bond? There's no bond.

The song's almost finished. Beth nods along. She needs to get up. She's had not nearly enough alcohol to deal with this.

_So Sally can wait_   
_She knows it's too late as she's walking on by_   
_My soul slides away_   
_But don't look back in anger_   
_Don't look back in anger_   
_I heard you say_   
_At least not today_

Tom and Beth share a look. Don’t look back in anger, huh? Beth snorts before she stands up and leaves for the bar. Yeah. Sure.

* * *

Libby's not been back for at least 30 minutes. Tom estimates this by him drinking about two pint of Guinness in that time.

Instead, he sees her at the bar, he sees her at the jukebox, and he sees her having a mighty good time with Steph and Liesa, dancing on the makeshift dance floor somewhere by the far end of the pub.

Tom admits – only to himself though – that if he was a little less grumpy, he would actually enjoy himself.

Maybe he’s even missed their friends. Well, his former friends. He’s not sure how well they’ve taken to him just leaving. Worst of all, him leaving Libby. Or Beth, as they call her. Something he still refuses to do, maybe because of the good old times. 

“Try and look a little less grumpy, hm?”

Tom almost chokes on his sip of beer, turning his head to the right to check where the voice came from.

Daniel grins at him, one brow raised as he takes a sip of his own drink.

Tom refrains from rolling his eyes. “I’m not—”

But Daniel's chuckle interrupts him. “Oh, come on. You look like you don't want to be here at all. And if you want to be here, you’re somehow trying to hide. From whatever.”

“I’m just not good with crowds.” It’s a half-truth. He’s usually good with them. With his fans and reporters and big Hollywood parties. He’s not good when he’s trying to be inconspicuous.

“The pics I’ve seen of you over the years seem to suggest something else,” Daniel shrugs. “But then again, images rarely paint the whole picture, do they?”

Tom shrugs. “Lots of people in Hollywood seem to think differently. Image is everything.” Huh. Maybe the drinks are making him bitter.

“You don't say.” It’s mumbled, but Tom hears it anyway. Before he can ask what Daniel means by it, his old friend talks on. “So, what brings you here?”

“Libby and Matt dragged me here. Actually, my father kind of insisted I should go as well.”

“Ah. That’s surprising.”

Now it’s Tom responding with, “You don't say.”

“But it’s not really what I mean,” Daniel continues. “What I do mean is, what brings you to Oxford again? I mean, haven’t you hurt Beth enough when you left her that first time? What now? Rubbing it in her face? That you found someone else? That you’re getting married again? Or have you actually brought that model of yours – Julia, is it? – with you? Making it a bit more painful?”

Tom looks at him, stunned. Daniel's always been like another big brother to Libby. Daniel and William, actually. Together with Sophie and Liesa the six of them have been a group of three couples, spending every free moments together, whenever they could.

He knows they’re all protective of her. Hell, Tom would be offended on Libby’s behalf if they weren't. But, Daniel must know why Tom is here? That he doesn’t want to be, but that there are things that need to be settled? That there’s got to be a divorce first in order for him to marry Julia?

He’s still blinking at Daniel, before licking his lips and taking another sip of the Guinness. “Well, she needs to sign those papers finally,” Tom states carefully, actually wincing a bit, having to spell it out for Daniel. Tom’s almost ashamed really. These people are different from his agents and publicists, even different from his family. They’d used to share everything back in the days. Daniel probably knew Tom had a crush on Libby, before Tom himself did. “I have to admit, I should have been a bit faster in delivering them, but there wasn’t the right time.”

This time, it’s Daniel, who chokes on his drink. “What?”

“Uhm. What?”

“What do you mean by finally signing those papers? That you should have delivered them sooner? You’re already divorced. Beth said that... Beth said everything was settled. She said so years ago. That you talked. That everything was fine. That you left her, but that you settled for a divorce.”

What the heck?

Tom searches for Libby in the pub. She's still on the dance floor with her two friends.

“Why would she do that?” It's a question meant for himself mostly, but he hears Daniel answer anyway.

“I’d like to know that as well.”

Tom doesn’t take his eyes off Libby as he stands up, admittedly a little unsteady on his feet. He ignores Daniel's protest, and doesn’t even remember that he doesn’t actually dance. Anymore, that is.

* * *

“Dance with me.”

Beth jumps and clutches her heart as she hears familiar words whispered in a familiar voice, right next to her ear. Liesa and Steph stop dancing along with her, giving her a look that probably means they’ll have their eyes on the ex-couple, but both take their leave and make their way to the table.

Beth turns around. The world swirls around her for a moment, but it’s not an unwanted feeling. Least of all when she stares into those blue eyes in front of her.

“You don't dance,” she answers but rests her hands on Tom's shoulders anyway.

“Not with just anyone, no.” Tom’s hands land on Beth’s waist, pulling her closer to him.

It’s clear that he’s had something to drink. But she has as well. This won’t hurt. Hopefully.

Beth scoffs. “You didn’t want to dance with me just an hour ago.” She's looking over his shoulder while they turn in a slow circle, seeing their friends discuss something at the table.

“Why did you do it?” It’s a low rumble that she more feels than hears.

She frowns and turns her head a bit to look at Tom’s face. So. Close. “Why did I do what?”

“Why did you tell them that we're divorced?”

Oh. Shit. Her head snaps from Tom to the table where her friends are sitting and watching them and back to Tom, making her head swirl with more than just Guinness. She simultaneously wants to stop dancing and just stand there, planting her feet in the ground, wants the floor to swallow her, and also she wants to flee. Goodness, how much she wants to flee right now.

But Tom’s hands keep holding on to her. “Hm?” he murmurs.

“I... I didn’t... I said we would settle for a divorce. I figured that was what we were going to do.”

“No,” Tom shakes his head. “No, you said that we’ve settled things. That we’ve talked things through. We never did, Libby.”

“Well, I know that,” she huffs. “I know. But they didn’t have to. Were they supposed to pity me even more? To hate you even more?”

They’re still moving slowly, but now it’s Tom who almost stops.

“What?”

Truth is, Beth doesn’t know why she's done it. Still doesn’t after all these years. But it’s probably really a combination of what she just said to Tom. It’s hard to be left like that. She hated the looks back then. The ‘So, your husband became a big star and forgot about you'-looks. It would have been even worse, if she admitted that she's been waiting – begging – for him to reach out to her.  
And it’s also true that she didn’t want their friends to hate him. He’d need them eventually when he’d come back – She thought at the time – and it was enough, if she hated him.

“But I'd have deserved it.”

Now, the ‘what’ comes from Beth.

“I mean, I didn’t want to come back, I didn’t even want to stay. We didn’t fit the way we thought we would. But I was an arse about it. I was young, well, younger than now. But I was an arse nevertheless.”

“Wow,” she whispers, “that somehow made it better and worse at the same time.”

Tom cringes. “I tend to do that.”

She can’t help it, Beth lets out a chuckle. “God, we're a mess.”

Tom chuckles along, and soon they’re both laughing, still swaying, and holding on to each other. It’s probably inappropriate and the entirely wrong response to all of this. But laughing right now – being almost drunk, singing, and dancing in a pub they’ve spent their youths in – kind of feels fitting. And long overdue. What else is she supposed to do? Crying herself to sleep as she's done six years ago?

“I admit, it’s not that bad you're still doing this,” Tom starts when they stop laughing. “It’s fun.”

“Is it the beer talking?” Beth smirks.

“Maybe a little bit.”

They’re slowly getting comfortable. Their hands relaxing while they sway, Beth actually wrapping her arms around Tom’s neck, while he circles her waist now. His hands wander lower and Beth doesn’t stop him. Instead she rests her head on Tom’s shoulder, breathing in his scent among all of this smell of beer, sweat, and a little bit of cigarettes. Tom smells a bit like beer as well. But mostly like the body wash he’s already used ten years ago.

Then, the music changes, and Beth feels Tom’s intake of breath at the same time she inhales sharply as well.

“Really?” she mutters, but Tom just chuckles.

“Close your eyes, and enjoy, Libby. It’s like the old times.”

She groans, but does as she's told, while memories of the past days having fun with their friends and singing along invade her mind. It doesn’t help that the entire pub sings along again.

_Today is gonna be the day_   
_That they're gonna throw it back to you_   
_By now you should've somehow_   
_Realized what you gotta do_   
_I don't believe that anybody_   
_Feels the way I do, about you now_

* * *

_I said maybe, you're gonna be the one that saves me_   
_And after all, you're my wonderwall_   
_I said maybe, you're gonna be the one that saves me_   
_you're gonna be the one that saves me_   
_you're gonna be the one that saves me_

Tom takes a deep breath as the song comes to a close. By now, his right hand rests on Libby’s arse, while his left one has come to her hip, brushing the soft skin that’s exposed from her top riding up.

Libby’s breathing against his throat, her nose brushing his jaw every now and then, while her fingers play with his hair on his neck.

If one of them moved their heads an inch to the side, their lips could brush. But they wouldn’t do that now, would they?

“Libby?” he whispers against her ear, and her shiver makes him shiver as well. “Do you want me to take you home?”

* * *

They’re in the back of the cab – Beth ignored the glances from her friends – when Tom’s phone starts ringing.

They haven’t kissed, but their hands have wandered, so, Tom pulls his finger away from her thigh in order to pick his mobile from his pocket.

“Shit,” he curses when he looks at the screen.  
Beth leans closer to look at the display. ‘Julia' is the name lighting up the screen. Shit, indeed.

Beth looks out of the window, they’re almost at James’ house now. She leans forward to the cab driver, seeing from the corner of her eyes how Tom pockets his phone again, looking mighty pale and running a hand through his hair. He didn’t answer though.

She gives the Hiddleston address. “Can you make another stop there?”

Tom sighs. “Libby.”

“It's more than fine, Tom,” she says to him. “I think we both know this wouldn’t be a good idea.”

* * *

Tom's lying in his spinning bed watching the spinning ceiling when he decides to call Julia back. He’s already had a cold shower and doesn’t quite feel like throwing up anymore.

“Tom? I tried to call you. You said that you would call me,” his fiancée’s voice comes through the phone.

“’m sorry. I... lost track of time.”

“Are you drunk?”

“Maybe a little. Went out with friends.”

“Oh, I can meet them at the wedding maybe?”

He chuckles despite himself. She's so enthusiastic about the wedding. He loves it. “Maybe, yes.”

“Are you up for something? Or are you too drunk and fall asleep on me?”

An image of Libby dancing with him, breathing against him, dancing against him flashes in Tom’s mind.

“’m horny, alright. No fallin' ‘sleep going on.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Don't look back in anger" and "Wonderwall" by Oasis.


	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Having Tom in Oxford brings back memories.

_„Libby?“ Tom whispered in her ear, his breath leaving goose bumps on her naked skin as they were lying in bed, blissfully naked, the duvets covering just their lower bodies._   
_Beth was on her stomach, one arm draped over Tom's abs, her head resting against his shoulder._

_“Hmm?” she murmured, way too tired after their lovemaking. Repeatedly._

_“Do you want children?”_

_Her head snapped up, almost knocking Tom in the jaw. “Huh?”_

_“Children, do you want them?” His eyes were sparkling, and a grin spread over his face._

_“Well,” she started. “At the moment we're too broke and too young and too busy.”_

_Tom rolled his eyes. “As far as I know, you’re not pregnant right now, Ms Smartypants.”_

_“Mrs Smartypants-Hiddleston, please.”_

_“I love that sound.”_

_“You love me.”_

_“That I do.”_

_It was a lazy Sunday afternoon two months after their small wedding. They were lying in bed – in the living-room, because that’s where you put the bed in a flat that only has one room, a small kitchen area and a tiny bathroom – enjoying the feels of their bodies after the sex. And probably before the sex as well, because what else were you supposed to do on a rainy Sunday afternoon when you were young and in love? And broke. But they were living in London, like they wanted to._

_Beth closed her eyes. She could feel the smile on her face. Tom smelled nice. And goodness, she was so in love with him._

_“Libby?” She also loved her name on his lips._

_“Hm?”_

_“Kids? Ever?”_

_“What is it with you and kids now?”_

_“Well, we're married,” he shrugged. “Guess it’s time to talk about it.”_

_“Two months.”_

_“Best months of my life.”_

_She rolled her eyes. “Smooth, Hiddleston.”_

_“You love it, Hiddleston. So. Kids?”_

_Beth shifted. Her chin rested on Tom’s chest as he grinned down at her. Her fingers trailed patterns on his sides, making him chuckle._

_“Yes, Tom. Children. Of course. Not now, not without having a steady income or enough time. But yes. I wouldn’t have married you, if I didn’t want a family.”_

_His smile grew. “Okay.”_

_“Okay. Just promise me you’ve got enough time for me and our five children when you’re a big Hollywood heartthrob. And that you’ll leave your three girlfriends waiting in your penthouse.”_

_Beth screeched when Tom suddenly turned to pin her to the bed. He planted a wet kiss straight on her mouth. “Always.”_

* * *

 

“—right?”

Beth jerks, shakes her head and blinks once, twice. She stares at her patient in front of her, both hands holding her big, round baby belly.  
She shakes her head again, trying to get rid of the last remnants the daydream left in her mind. “I’m sorry, could you repeat that?”

“Are you alright?” her patient, Sarah, asks.  
This time, Beth nods. “Yes. Yes, sorry. And I should ask you that. You’re the one 38 weeks pregnant.”

A smile, almost giddy, graces her face. “I am. I can’t wait. And I wanted to know, if there is a chance that I can come in before the baby’s due. There is, right?”

“You come in at week 40 again, that’s correct.”

Beth tries – and fails – to tear her eyes away from Sarah's stomach. It’s not easy. Not at all. She suppresses a sigh. Damn Tom Hiddleston and him coming back into her life, bringing all the memories with him. She managed just fine before. Has been managing for six years now. 

She shakes her head. No. No, Tom’s definitely not back in her life. They haven’t talked all weekend after the night in the pub. He’s not tried to contact her again. But why would he? He was drunk, they were drunk, nothing happened, nothing happens, nothing is going to happen.

Well, maybe she should sign those papers.  
It’s just that all these thoughts have been in her head all weekend. And it doesn’t help that she's meeting all of these pregnant women in her job.

Still, Beth is 32. There's enough time. Eventually, she’ll meet the man of her dreams. Again, her mind chimes in, something she shuts down immediately. Tom obviously isn’t the man of her dreams. That never worked out.

There's enough time to have children on her own. Rationally, she knows that. But one doesn’t get married – even at the age of 21 – if one doesn’t want a future with someone. At least, not normally. And Beth wanted a future with Tom. And at the time she thought he wanted that too. He’s told her he wanted that. So, he either lied to himself, her, or in the end she wasn’t important enough.

All of these options hurt. Still hurt.

Beth clears her throat as Sarah does too. Apparently, she's been lost in her thoughts again.

She checks the clock on the wall. 8.45. She sighs. This is going to be the longest Monday she's had in a while.

* * *

“Okay, Hiddleston. Man up,” Tom whispers to himself as he makes his way to the old Johnson place. To Libby’s flat.

It’s Monday evening, he’s given them both the weekend to recover from Friday night. Or well, has given himself the Saturday off to wallow in self pity induced by a hangover from hell. On Sunday he was too ashamed to meet, and now it’s time to talk business. And by business he means papers.

Time’s running out, it’s not like he wants to spend his time here instead of London with his friends. He needs to get this done before Julia arrives in England to meet his family.

Tom’s here without his car – fresh air does him some good after all – but with food from the Indian place between his flat and Libby's.

She's always loved Indian food. Maybe it makes both of them talk to each other like normal human beings.

He sighs and rings the bell. After about half a minute he rings the bell again for good measure. She has to be home, right? Matt is back to work and their friends are home doing coupl-y things. Surely.

Just as Tom puts his finger on the bell to ring yet again, he sees a shadow on the other side of the door.

“Dammit, yes, I'm here!” Libby grumbles as the door flies open. Then she stops, her mouth hanging open for a few seconds, before she shuts it and blinks at him instead. Then she opens her mouth again to utter a, “Tom?”.

He doesn’t answer right away. No. Just a few seconds have passed and now he’s the one staring and being gobsmacked. He hasn’t seen her like this in forever. Well. He hasn’t seen her in forever. Period. Neither like this nor in any other form.

Libby’s apparently had a shower quite recently as her wet hair is combed back, little droplets still falling on her shoulders. Her shoulders that are clad in his old dark blue Cambridge t-shirt he’s never seen again after he left for Los Angeles. Damn it, damn her, she still looks good in it. Especially paired with his old dark grey jogging bottoms she obviously didn’t get rid of either. It was her favourite sleeping outfit back in the days when they would sleep dressed at all.

Brought back to the present by the clearing of a throat, Tom looks back at Libby's face and into her brown eyes. He can’t help but grin as he sees her cheeks darken with a red tint. So, she knows that he’s recognised her outfit. Does she still sleep in this? Is it some sort of melancholy? Hell, he knows he himself feels rushes of memories during his stay here. But then again, he is sleeping in his old room at his father’s house.

“What?” she hisses now, not moving an inch from the door or looking like she would let him into the house anytime soon. Keen on making him leave, obviously.

Tom knows he shouldn't do it, but he can’t stop himself from teasing her. At least a little. A tiny bit of old times. “Nice outfit.”

“It's comfy,” Libby snaps, her cheeks reddening a bit more.

“It's also not an outfit I thought I’d ever see again.” Stop it, Tom.

“Well, here you go. I’m wearing it. Look your fill and then you can go back to--,” A noise from one of the rooms downstairs makes her pause and close the door a bit more. “What do you want?”

Tom holds up the bag containing their food. “I brought dinner.”

Now, Libby stands up little straighter, her lips forming that adorable pout of hers and her eyes squinting at him. “Why?”

“I thought we could talk.”

“Again, why?”

Well, damn it all. Now, he’s the one sighing. “Please, Libby? I think you know why. And can we not do it here? Also, it’s Indian.”

“Is it spicy?” It’s almost a whisper, and Tom has to suppress his grin at that.

“Of course, it is.”

* * *

Libby’s flat is larger than Tom imagined. He probably thought of a smaller space, because the last time they've been in Oxford together was when she was living in her parent's house.

Not that she's shown him more than the hallway – which admittedly he had to somehow cross – and her living-room with the very comfortable looking sofa, her tv and a massive book shelf along with a dining area. From his place on the chair at the table, Tom also has a good view into the kitchen, which looks bright, woody and inviting.

Munching on her rice and curry, Libby studies him from across the table. She swallows as Tom rises a brow, takes a sip from her beer bottle and then fixes him with a look she's already perfected about ten years ago.

“You wanted to talk, Hiddleston.”

Tom swallows his own food, which is a bit spicier than he thought. He can also see Libby grinning at the light sheen of sweat forming on his forehead. “I did, yes. I wanted to apologise for Friday, actually.”

At that, she looks down. “For what?”

Ugh, she makes him say it, huh? “I probably was a bit drunker than I thought. That and all those memories... I just hope you don’t think I wanted to take advantage of you.”

She smiles a little at that. “It is full of memories here, huh?”

“Yeah.” He can only nod. “I can’t imagine what it must be like still living in all these memories.”

He knows he said the wrong thing the moment the words have left his mouth. He doesn’t even need to look at Libby and see the scowl on her face. He looks at her anyway.

“It's been okay with the right company actually,” is all that she answers, before chewing on another spoonful of rice.

Fair enough. “Okay.” He swallows. “I wondered,” he then continues, before he glances at his plate and puts his fork down. Then, he looks up again. “I wondered if these memories maybe help us talk about the papers like grown up human beings.”

Libby chuckles and rolls her eyes. But it’s not the chuckle he knows from years ago. It’s more grown up and it’s definitely not friendly. Tom used to make her chuckle quite lovingly.  
He shakes his head. He doesn’t want to make her smile, laugh, or chuckle like that again. Julia – his fiancée Julia – has a lovely chuckle as well.

“Is that how you get your fangirls and co-stars to swoon, Hiddleston?”

“Hm?”

“The puppy dog eyes that you just pulled. Along with that tiny pout on your lips. And the furrowed brows. The look you’re sporting right now. You haven’t learned that at RADA. That’s all Hollywood. Surely works wonders on your fans on the internet.”

“I wasn’t--,” Wasn’t he, though? Isn’t he? He’s trying to convince her, and he also knows what works on her. At least he used to.

She interrupts him with a sigh. That he knows from previous arguments. She's always been good at that. “Just, shut up for a moment, Tom. I’ll read your damn papers, and then we both can move on without all these memories, huh?”

Well, isn’t that exactly what he wants? “I’ll bring them over tomorrow then.”

* * *

Ten minutes later – honestly, what’s the point in staying after dinner? – Tom leaves, walking in front of Libby through the hallway. The walls are full of pictures. Some look like they’re drawn and painted by children, some are photographs of babies and toddlers. They can’t all be related to Libby.

And indeed, as Tom stops to inspect them closer, he can see thank-you-notes written on most of them. She's helped these children into the world.

“Don't you want children on your own?” he asks and immediately feels the tension in the room shift. He looks back over his shoulder at Libby. She's glaring at him. “What?” he mumbles.

“Are you kidding me right now?”

“Uh.”

“Yes, Tom,” she hisses, and he cringes. “Yes, I fucking want children on my own. I wanted them ten years ago, and I wanted them six years ago. You wanted them too. You wanted them with me. We got married, Tom. We got fucking married and we talked about children. How dare you ask me that?”

Just as he wants to answer, though he’s got no idea what he should even say, Libby continues. “I wanted children with you Tom, and you left me. I see children every day at work and they’re not mine. And you know what? That’s fine. Sometimes it doesn’t work out. We didn’t work out because of exactly that. Work. You chose work over a life with me, and you chose work over having children with me. I just wonder what changed.”

Tom looks at her, stunned. It was a simple question. She always loved children. And yes. They talked about them. Apparently. But now tears are streaming down Libby's face as she stands before him, shaking and holding herself, wearing clothes from his Cambridge days.

“I wonder, if it was just me that wasn’t enough for you. Because I couldn’t compete with your job. And Julia – that’s her name, right? – Julia can compete with your job. So. It was me.”

“Libby.”

She shakes her head. “You should leave. Put the papers in the mailbox tomorrow, I’ll read and sign them.”

“Libby, I...”

“Leave.”

And so, he does. Glancing at Libby, he turns and hears the door close behind him. He doesn’t know what to think. Has no idea what to do. 

Tom sighs. That’s a lie. He does know. Leave the papers, have her send them to his solicitor and leave for London.


	7. Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The truth gets out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry.

Again, they don't talk to each other over the next two days. Beth suspects Tom doesn’t know how to react, how to talk to her, and she's embarrassed and sometimes even sorry for her behaviour.

She knows she shouldn’t be. Doesn’t need to be. She's told him the truth. Maybe even for the first time in over six years. Because who is she kidding? Just because he didn’t come back from that particular shoot, it doesn’t mean they’ve been honest with each other before then.

She didn’t want to go to New York or Hollywood or anything else farther away than the British border, and Tom didn’t want to come back or have her there anyway.

And yet... they’ve never told each other any of that during shooting. At least not when they tried to talk to each other civilly.

Beth blinks, lying on her bed, picking up her copy of The Jungle Book from where she’s dropped it on her stomach with a frustrated sigh when she couldn’t stop thinking about Tom and how he looked like a lost puppy when she kicked him out.

Probably felt like one, too, because for the first time since he’s come back to Oxford, he didn’t look like he was hiding anything.

No. She huffs. She's almost gotten through this damn book, she's going to relax after a busy day at work and finish it.

But she can’t. Beth scoffs at herself and swears softly under her breath. Damn it, she feels like it’s 2010 again. When some nights she couldn't fall asleep because Tom hadn’t called. Leading to days she couldn’t concentrate on her job, because she was too tired and anxious at the same time. Which in turn lead to nights she again couldn’t sleep because then Tom had called and they'd been both bitching.

Beth knows that this is part of the problem, just as she’s told – well, yelled at – Tom days before. She hasn’t been good enough for him to come back and try. They couldn’t compromise. And yet, somehow he can now see himself compromising with someone else.

Her ringing phone interrupts Beth's thoughts – thankfully. She picks it up from the bedside table and frowns when she sees James' number popping up.

They’re set to meet for dinner the next evening, not a Friday roast for once, because it’s not Matt’s week to visit anyway, and Tom has a business dinner in London to go to, James has told her. It seems as if he’s adamant to come back to Oxford after that, though.

As soon as Beth picks up with a soft “Hello” James starts to speak.

“I’m afraid we have to cancel tomorrow, with all that’s been going on, don’t you think?”

Huh? Her heart beats rapidly. What’s been going on? Did she miss something? Is it James, Diana, or the children? Some catastrophe striking Oxford or the UK?

“What?” she asks, rather stupidly. “What is happening?”

“Oh.” That’s all she gets as an answer. Then,

“I thought you knew.”

Well, she didn’t. At least she's not aware of it. “What don’t I know?” Beth asks as she drops her book for a second time this evening in order to sit up on her bed properly. She's got a feeling she needs to for this.

There’s a sigh from James. Oh god, it is Diana. “I’ve got photographers in front of my house. Apparently, Tom’s been spotted at the airport making his way to his flight out to London. And when he didn’t appear near his London home—” 

Beth feels like fainting all of the sudden. All of these years, and now? “They’ve found us?” she whispers.

“No! No, it’s not that. You’re good. They only found out that Tom used to live here, and that I’m still here. They just know this is where he grew up.”

She lets out the breath she's been holding. “Okay. Okay.”

“And it might be better that you don’t show up at the front door, if you don’t want your face in any newspapers. Tom’s actually quite mad that I have to deal with them. Made phone calls all day.” James sounds impressed, and Beth has to admit she's as well. Tom didn’t make it seem like he cares too much about his family and old friends. But then again, maybe he just doesn’t want to be disturbed or have the truth come out.

And it won’t, because although Tom doesn’t trust this old town, Beth does.

“That’s really nice of him,” she manages to say. “Maybe I can make it through the back door, though.”

James laughs. It wasn’t really supposed to be a joke, she's too stunned for that. “We'll see. I’m sure they’ll be gone in a few days.”

Beth hopes so as well. She doesn’t like to hide.

* * *

Tom’s fuming as he makes his way through Hinksey Park, running round after round along the path. No, not running. Stomping is more like it.

He hates it, feeling almost helpless.  
It’s by far not the first time that the media finds out where he’s currently staying. There are tons of pictures of him walking around New York, Los Angeles, or even London. But they’ve never been here. They’ve never cared for his family. So why now?

Why do they care now that he’s here to finally sort out his past and move on. Is Karma really that much of a bitch? Telling him that he should have done this a lot sooner? That this would have been okay two years ago when he met Julia? Or even would have worked out before he got down on one knee to ask her to marry him? Now they come to town? Really?

He runs faster.

He should have done this sooner. Running, that is, not coming here. But he simply didn’t have the time today, though there were many, many moments he just wanted to forget, leave and not look back.

But instead he’s been on the phone all day, mostly with Brian, because if someone can make this go away it surely is his publicist, right? Wrong. Because while he of course wants to protect Tom and his ‘dirty, little secret’ as he calls it – as he calls Libby, really, something that Tom's not entirely happy about – it is good for Tom’s public persona to be seen with his family.

Sure, he’s a well loved actor, always smiling and very cool with a beautiful fiancé, but wouldn’t it be so cool to have him as a family guy ready to settle down and introducing his fiancé to his family as well?

Tom tends to agree there. But then again, his family has never asked for this. That’s one reason why he hasn’t come back in so long. His family has nothing to do with his fame. They deserve a quiet life, don't they?

Plus, publicity is great, but wouldn’t it be even better, if word of his marriage with Libby doesn’t get out?

Not just because of his public image, but actually because she's never asked for this, either? After all, he’s not just protecting his immediate family. He’s protecting her as well. The fangirls would not just coming for him, they’d probably strangle her.

He runs faster still, not even seeing his surroundings, but just hearing the beat of the music from his ear buds mixing with the drumming of his heart in his ears.

Yes, he’s been selfish. Yes, he probably still is. He wanted his career, and he wanted it to be in America.

But what he never told Libby, what he probably never admitted to himself either, because he had to focus, is that he also protected her.

It may have been in some twisty, pathetic way, but he did. Yeah, he disappointed her, and though her bluntness on Monday night shocked him, her feelings don't come as a surprise for him. He’s just never had to deal with them.

They would have hated each other back then. Either because Tom would have come back to London for her, giving up on his dream – possibly even accusing her of denying him living his dream – or because Libby would have come to America, living somewhere she didn’t want to and trying to be a social butterfly she simply wasn’t.

So, he didn’t come back, and he didn’t ask about her coming to him anymore. They both lived the lives they wanted like this. Yeah, she hates him now. But that’s better than Tom eventually hating her. He couldn’t live with that.

He stops at a park bench, panting and nearly folding himself in half, his hands resting heavily on his knees as he tries to catch his breath. Tom knows it isn’t a sudden lack of fitness that has him panting like this, whispering swear words under his breath. It’s him not caring about his breathing pattern on his run, because he’s got Libby on his mind.  
His phone rings, effectively pulling him out of his thoughts. He answers without looking.

“Yes?”

“They know.” It’s Brian. Again. For the umpteenth time today. But that’s not what Tom cares about now. What did he just say?

“What?”

“Someone from your stupid town in stupid England talked today, Tom. I don’t know if they paid them or if some old aunt in Oxford just thought that a certain pap was very charming. But someone talked. They know about your precious Libby.”

First, Tom is too stunned to form an actual thought. Then it’s lots of ‘shit’, ‘fuck’, and ‘why?’.

“I... who?”

“I don’t fucking know, Tom. I just know that I’ve got a phone call from several news sites here that told me since we're still in the middle of the day here, I should expect a story tonight with exclusive pics of Tom Hiddleston’s wife. It’s just a heads up apparently, we can’t do anything, they have the documents and her name. And if they have that, they’ll easily have a pic within the next two hours.”

Good thing that Tom's still next to that bench. Because his head is spinning and his legs feel weak, and he really, really should sit down now. So, he does.

“I don’t... What do we do?”

“We’ll spin a story somehow. I’ve got some ideas. I’ll call you later again, when I know what the media will make of this. Prepare yourself for a long night.”

Before Tom can utter anything or even think of something to make out of this, Brian hangs up, and Tom is alone on a bench in a Park in Oxford, his world spinning and swirling around him.

He can’t fucking breathe. Is that what a heart attack feels like? Because his chest is hurting and he still can’t fucking take a breath. What does he do now? Does he run home? Does he stay here and hide in this park forever, letting everyone else deal with this?

Well, no. Of course not. He can’t do that to his family or to Libby for that matter. He scoffs, rubbing his aching chest. He’s tried to protect her – to protect them – all those years ago, and this is what he gets.

Tom knew it. He knew that he shouldn’t have come here. He knew that he shouldn’t have gone out to that stupid pub or met anyone from his past. This town talks. He was right about that and Libby was wrong. Too trusting. Good thing she's never come to America with him. She would have been eaten alive.

Tom’s phone rings again. “What?!” he shouts into the receiver, again without looking at the caller ID. It can’t get any worse than this anyway.

“I guess you heard the news then, too. When were you going to tell me?” Shit. Julia’s voice is icy in his ear. Tom closes his eyes. This can get worse after all.

“Julia,” he sighs. “I—”

“Don't bother. You’re lucky I can’t get away from this shoot right now. But I’ll be on the plane on Friday morning, and you better have something you’re going to tell me then. Explain to me. And I’ll better fucking meet that freaking wife of yours.”

* * *

It really is like the old times. Beth sighs. Damn Tom. And damn her stupid brain, because for the life of her, she can’t fall asleep.

So, she checks her clock – it’s 9.30 – and gets up to make herself a tea in the kitchen.  
That’s when a ring from her doorbell startles her. After all the days she's had, Beth almost suspects it to be Tom. She doesn’t want it to be him. Why now? Can’t he just leave her alone? She just won’t open. She’ll make a tea, and then she’ll settle in bed. He can come back one of the other days.

But then there’s a knock on the door and Mrs Johnson's voice. “Beth, dear? Uhm... I don’t know, if it has anything to do with that former husband of yours. But you may not want to go outside. Can you please make him handle that? I want to be able to leave my own damn house.”

The next thing Beth hears are steps leading away from the door to her flat. What, now? Make him handle what?

Carefully, Beth makes her way through her flat, opening the front door slowly. She's always been too curious for her own good, so, she walks through the dark hallway and up to the front door of the house.

Are there people outside? Very, very carefully she opens the door.

And is blinded by flashes. And shouts. It’s a blur. People are in front of her house and they’re shouting ‘Beth’ as well as ‘Hiddleston’.

Beth gasps and closes the door with a bang, leaning against it from the inside. Then she slides down. They know her name. They know her.

Shit.


	8. Chapter Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be smut. If you don't like that, it's marked by *** just leave that out while reading :) and enjoy ;)

Beth paces her little kitchen as she waits for her – what is it now? – fourth cup of coffee to brew.

She hasn’t slept at all, except for maybe dozing off a few minutes here and there. But every time she closed her eyes, she could hear the shouts of her name – last and first – in front of her door.

They weren’t really there of course. Well, at least they didn’t really shout, Beth thinks. It’s not like she’s checked. She’ll find out soon enough, though, because how else is she going to get to work?

But it’s not the only reason, she hasn’t slept. Tom called. Sometime in the middle of the night he was on the phone, making excuses why he couldn’t come over and speak face to face.

Beth understands. She really does, because of course he shouldn’t be seen at her front door right now. Don’t add fuel to the fire. But he called. And he made it very clear that they would find out, who was behind this. Who couldn’t keep their mouths shut. Also, he – and his publicist apparently – were very sure it was someone from their circle. Someone not as trustworthy as they – Beth knows they mean ‘her’ really – may think.

But she refuses to believe that. It can’t be their friends. They’ve known them for so long. They wouldn’t do that to them. To her. She tried to say that to Tom, but of course he wouldn’t listen.

She paces some more, until her phone rings. When she answers, Beth is immediately greeted with a – slightly hysterically – female voice. “Beth, I am so sorry!”

She frowns. Is that Linda from across the street? The one who bought her family's house? “Linda?” Beth asks, just to be sure. Because why should she be sorry? If someone should be apologising right now, it’s Beth for all the commotion on the street.

“Yes. Right. Sorry. It’s Linda. I’m so sorry.”

Before Beth can really ask why, Linda starts explaining. Beth hasn’t read any articles and Tom has yet to call back, so she's apparently not up to date. The media runs the story of how they’ve found out. Linda's little daughter opened the door when Tom first came to the house when he thought it was still the Lucas' place. It had taken Linda awhile, but when her daughter asked, if that was Loki at the door, she'd known she recognised him.

Apparently, Linda's daughter likes to talk. Not to just anyone, but to her 13-year-old cousin living in the south of England. And that cousin is very excited when it comes to Tom. So excited in fact, that she posted on Twitter that Tom is visiting Oxford. Visiting her aunt's neighbour. With tags. And apparently, so called journalists are better at reading than they’re at writing.

Beth suspects that from then on it was only a matter of research to find out exactly who is living in that house. Probably it must have also been easy to find out there is more than one person called ‘Hiddleston’ in town.

It’s a mess. Beth knows that. A mess, far from perfect, but by no means as bad and as backstabbing as Tom made it seem.

When they hang up, Linda saying sorry at least three more times, Beth glances at the clock, realising with a start that she now has to face the crowds outside.

She pours the coffee in her to-go-cup, grabs her bag with her washed work clothes, takes one last deep breath and leaves her flat. She waits another few minutes in the downstairs hallway, sending a silent apology to the neighbourhood for probably causing another scene, and leaves the house.

It’s not as bad as she thought. There aren’t as many paparazzi as yesterday evening. Most of them probably already got their golden shot of Tom Hiddleston's wife and come back later. Not that Beth knows anything about that.

However, as she starts her walk, there are still more than enough men for her liking, shouting after her, walking on the other side of the street. Some even run to get ahead of her, taking shots from the front. Never in her life Beth felt like the Duchess of Cambridge when she still was Kate Middleton. All those pictures from years ago when she dated the prince.

Well, she’d gladly take the prince now.  
To keep herself busy, Beth takes out her phone, dialling the first person that comes to mind. Liesa always knows how to cheer her up, is the only one up at this time of day, and knows the backstory.

“Oh, goodness, Beth. I am so sorry.”

“Huh?” This is getting weirder and weirder today. “What for?”

There's a slight hesitation on the other end of the line, and Beth fears what might come next. “I just found out today, and I’m so sorry I posted that picture without checking it first. I deleted it now. But I guess it’s too late.”

Beth forces herself to walk on. “Can you explain please?” she whispers harshly, trying to keep the frown off her face. “Because I have no idea what’s going on except a bunch of idiots following me to work and my neighbour apologising to me as well.”

“You... haven’t seen?”

“Apparently, I haven’t.”

“I posted a picture from our night at the pub on Instagram. I didn’t even worry about the account not being private,” Liesa starts her story. At least Beth now has something else to focus on instead of those men walking with her. “Tom was in the background. Drinking and laughing. Someone recognised him. And of course I tagged the pub. They must have gone through my followers and found you. I’m so sorry, Beth.”

Now, she does stop walking. “Liesa, it’s not your fault. This is all a horrible mess, and a series of mistakes.”

She truly believes that. And what would change anyway? If anyone else was to really blame? She’d still be shouted at, they’d still know all about this. She wasn’t tagged on Instagram, she's not on there with her last name – obviously – and her account is set on private. There's nothing more they can do.

“Still. I feel so horrible.”

Beth sighs as she finally reaches her work place. “Me too. Really, me too.”

* * *

She has a day from hell. It’s not like she expected it to be great, she’s been prepared for it to be horrible. But Beth hasn't thought about just how bad it would be.

The mothers-to-be have been staring at her all day. Her colleagues have been staring too, until she’s told them – rather passionately – that she's still the same person.

And when she's managed that, the other problem occurred during lunch time. Sure, she would be chased. So, she stayed inside.

What she didn’t think about however, was those paparazzi harassing her co-workers. She got the most angry looks when they came back from lunch, having hundreds of questions shouted at them. Beth apologised then.

She was still told to maybe take the day off, and not come back for the Friday as well. And that somebody else would be on call on the weekend.

So, she’s calling a cab now – there’s no way she's walking through those crowds again – and hurries downstairs and into the car. After the shortest car drive she's ever experienced, she’s back in her flat, closing the door behind her, locking it twice.

Beth is exhausted. She would also kill for a vodka right about now. But as it is, it’s not even 3 on a Thursday afternoon, and she shouldn’t drink now. Instead, she takes off her shoes, dresses in her sweatpants and a t-shirt and turns on the TV. Mindless afternoon television. That’s what she needs now.

She almost shrieks as her phone rings in her bag, she’s just so lost in her thoughts. Not the tv, she can’t focus on that.

Beth doesn’t want to talk. Not to anyone. She doesn’t want this day to get any worse. But her phone – that shrilling sound of her phone – annoys her to no end. So, she stands up, gets her phone and checks the display. She doesn’t know the number, but it’s an American area code. The same one as yesterday, she realises after a few seconds. As soon as she picks up, Tom’s voice greets her.

“Open the door for me?”

“What?” What is he doing here? Why should she open the door? She can’t. There are paparazzi all over the place. Why would Tom be so stupid to even show up here? Where are those advisors of his? “Tom, you can’t come here!”

“I’m already there,” he answers. “At the backdoor. They haven’t seen me yet. So, please. Open up.”

Beth is torn. She really wants to be alone. But goodness, wouldn’t it just feel cathartic to have someone to yell at? Yes. That’s what she's going to do. Let it out.

So, without answering, but hanging up instead, Beth unlocks her door and rushes downstairs. Tom’s at the backdoor just as he said.

He’s pacing almost, looking frantic. “Oh, thank god,” he says and rushes past Beth. “I hoped they wouldn’t go to the back.” Without waiting, he walks upstairs. “Put on your shoes, yeah? We’re going to go for a little walk.”

Well. So much for yelling. Instead, she goes after Tom back to her flat, closing and locking the door again.

“What... how? Why?”

“I came through the fields. That hasn’t changed much, has it? Still by far not the closest way to get to you, especially now since you live on the other side of that fucking street, but still an effective way to not be seen.”

He’s grinning at her now. It’s not that horrible, smug, “look at me, I’m better than you"-smile he’s sported since he got here. It’s an honest Tom smile. One she's seen last before he even left for Hollywood. She likes that smile.

“I still don’t understand.”

“You need to get out of this house. I’ve seen the pics. Brian sent me links. This is all a massive fuck-up, but you need to get out of here.”

Beth shakes her head in disbelieve. Where does this come from? Why is he being so... nice?

It must show on her face, because now Tom huffs. “I know I haven’t been exactly nice. But this is the last thing I’ve ever wanted for you, Libby. You didn’t want a Hollywood life. And I brought it here. I’m sorry for that, I truly am. And I know I’m waiting for this divorce, I know we’re not exactly married in the traditional sense. But I am your husband, I brought this to you, and I’m going to make you feel better today.”

She’s stunned. Beyond stunned. “You don’t have to protect me,” is what Beth comes up with.

“Believe me. I know. I know you’ve changed, I know you’ve always been strong. But I feel guilty. Let me help.”

So, that’s what this is about? “You want to feel better about it?” Tom actually flinches at that. “And how is this your fault anyway? I thought this horrible town with its avaricious habitants is to blame?”

“Brian traced everything back. We know how this developed, it was...”

Beth stops him. “I know. I know. Everyone called me. Seems like honest people are worth just as much as a good PR-person is.”  
Another flinch. “Seems so,” is all he answers.

“Will you let me help you?”

She shrugs. It can’t get worse than this, right? And she also still needs to yell at him.  
Beth turns and before Tom can protest, she grabs her pair of sneakers and puts them on. She leaves her mobile where it is, grabs a hoodie and her keys. “Lead the way then.”

* * *

Tom feels horrible. He hasn’t slept all night, there are paparazzi everywhere, in front of James’ house, in front of Libby’s house and her work, as well as following him as soon as he leaves the house.

He’s been on the phone with Brian on and off. Brian was also the one who found out about tagged pictures and tweets. Okay, so Tom was wrong. Nobody in town really talked. It’s just what modern life is like now. People with phones and social media are everywhere.

The media reaction is actually not that bad. Not as bad as it could be, at least. Sure, they’re all wondering, asking themselves how Tom could hide a wife. But Brian prepared a statement that’s been released just about an hour ago, to make it to the American news in time. Yes, a wife. Soon-to-be ex-wife. They’ve been separated even before Tom left for Hollywood, they’ve always been good, he never cheated – he really never did that.

And of course, Julia knows about this. Always has. Just because the media doesn’t know, it doesn’t mean it's secret. Julia will even be at some kind of event tonight. Smiling for the cameras.

They move quietly, Libby following behind him. It’s a path that hasn’t changed in the past years. It still winds through the fields until the old barn comes into view. Thankfully, because Tom hasn’t been sure it still exists.

“Tom, why?” Libby asks from behind. Before he can turn around, she continues. “Why all those fucking memories?”

Tom feels his shoulders drop. This is a bad idea, isn’t it? “Sorry,” he mumbles. “You always felt good here.”

“When we were children.”

Still, she doesn’t stop, Tom can still hear her steps as they get closer. He smiles to himself. Yes, she’s still stubborn. But she's also still as curious as she used to be.

“And a bit more grown up as well, if I remember correctly.” Tom still doesn’t turn around. There's no need to. He can almost feel the blush radiating from Libby.

“Shut up,” she mumbles.

He laughs, the first real one since he’s got here. At Libby's slap against his back from behind, Tom chuckles. “Sorry.”

He opens the door for her. It doesn’t smell as good as it did all those years ago, but it seems as there are still children playing in here every now and then. The roof seems to be fine, no puddles forming anywhere. There even are some blankets lying around.

“Looks nice,” Libby comments. “Not as nice as before obviously. But not bad.”

Tom nudges her shoulder. “Not everyone can be as good as decorating as we were.”

“You mean I was good at it. You just came in here and brought the food.”

“The cake from my mum.”

She chuckles and he’s basking in it. He made her chuckle.

“That was always tasty.”

They both don't say much more for the next couple of minutes. Libby studies the wood and the blankets, and looks out of the windows.

Tom studies her. She hasn’t changed that much actually. Maybe she looks a bit surer of herself. A bit more grown. But maybe he’s also just so used to seeing her. They’ve been together almost everyday for more than ten years after all.

“Tell me about you.” It’s out before he’s even really thought about it. But it’s true. Maybe it’s his protective strike. Maybe he feels guilty. Not maybe. He’s definitely feeling guilty. And it’s not just guilt for coming here just out of the blue. Or for her to have what must be a horrible day as well. He also feels guilty for never actually giving them both the chance to say goodbye. God, they wouldn’t be here, if he just had said goodbye.

“What?” Libby turns from the window to meet his gaze. “You’ve known me for almost 25 years. You know everything about me.”

“Maybe I did. But I didn’t pay much attention to you the past years, did I?”

She shakes her head a bit, but eventually sits down on one of the blankets, allowing Tom to take a seat next to her.

And then she talks. They talk. Libby tells him about her parents, how they both died, and how Matt and her didn’t know what to do with themselves. Tom feels like he’s missing them too, which he does. It’s his own fault, he knows that. He knows a lot of things, sitting here next to the girl – woman – he used to love, in a small barn. It’s much easier to know all those things here than when he lives his life in the U.S. with everyone telling him what a nice, good and lovely golden boy he is.

Libby also tells him about her work, about how she helps women to become mothers and little families to settle down with their babies. She tells him about how she still loves to read and how she discusses books and plays – she likes to go to the theatre in London – with James. She's also still meeting their old friends, not just here, but in London as well. Tom knows that, after all they seemed more than comfortable together in the pub. They had a beautiful, happy life, hadn’t they?, she asks at one point. Yes. Yes, they had.

But Libby also understands Tom following his dream. He’s stunned at that. Back then it felt – and he’s not proud of that – as if she wanted to hold him back. She didn’t want to come with him. She wanted him back in London. Where her life was, not his dreams.  
She agrees with him. Not that she wanted to hold him back, but that she and him wouldn't have been happy together at that time. They wanted different things, and one of them would have been unhappy.

Libby huffs at that again. Weren’t they both unhappy then anyway? Yeah. He has to agree with that.

And then Libby looks at him and there are tears in her eyes. Shit. He can’t see her cry. Never could.

So, Tom rubs her cheek with his thumb. “Please, don’t cry. I’m sorry.”

She just shakes her head and looks down. “It’s okay now.”

But it doesn’t seem to be, because she’s still crying. Tom feels like crying too. The first real conversation since he’s left six years ago, and he makes her cry. Back then, whenever they saw each other again after he came back from filming Wallander or a movie with Joanna, they would hug and kiss and – Tom is the one blushing now – have sex, losing themselves in each other.

So, Tom does what he knows, lets his body react and hugs her.

Libby’s stiff in his arms, but then he can feel her inhale sharply and then melt into him.  
Eventually, she looks up at him. She’s so close. She still smells the same. They’ve never said goodbye, they didn’t know their last time was their last time. They never got the chance to kiss anymore. It’s his fault. He knows that. Those are the thoughts running through Tom’s head. And before he knows what he’s doing, he leans closer.

She mumbles, “Tom,” but doesn’t stop him. She still tastes the same as well. Her lips are a little salty from her tears, but she does taste the same.

Libby feels the same too, when she sits up a little, only to straddle him. Her hips are a little rounder as Tom holds her. Her breasts are a bit bigger as well. She still sounds the same, Tom thinks.

***

And then there isn’t much thinking anymore, just feeling. The feeling of their bodies moving together, grinding. The feeling of fumbling hands and hot breaths, tearing clothes away and nibbling on lips.

Somehow they’re not just moving together, but also lie down, Libby on top of him. They shed sweatpants and jeans and eventually underwear.

Tom groans as he feels Libby’s soft skin against him, her wet core against his thigh.

She moves against him and screams out as he uses a finger to find the soft spot inside of her. He adds another finger when she clenches down on him, rubbing with his thumb in time with his movements inside of her.

Libby’s silent when she comes, but bites his shoulder, making him moan in turn and her chuckle breathlessly.

The chuckle turns into a groan, when Tom turns them around on the hard floor only covered by a blanket.

“Are you...?”

“I’m clean,” she whispers and digs her fingers into his shoulders. “And on the pill.”

It’s all Tom needs to know – at the moment at least. He enters her, both of them breathless now. He can’t move. This will be over when he moves.

But Libby still knows what to do, what buttons to press. One hand moves to his shoulder blade, fingers scratching slightly. The fingers of her other hand curl in his hair.

And then he moves. They move. Together.

Tom can feel the sweat building, sees it on Libby’s face. When she can’t seem to hold open her eyes anymore, he shuts his as well.

There's a pleasure building in his lower body, he can feel himself stiffening. So, he reaches for Libby's soft spot between their bodies blindly, rubbing again. When she moans and clenches, Tom lets go as well. It’s lights and then it’s all black. He can hear his and Libby’s panting, then he rolls over. What...

***

“What the hell?” she asks.

Yes. That.


	9. Chapter Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Old life meets new life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the longish delay! I'll try to be quicker with the next chapter!

They make their way back to Libby's flat. Neither one is talking, they got dressed quietly, and they didn’t look at each other. They fucked up. Quite literally, but Tom feels like he shouldn’t say that now. Or laugh. Or even snicker.

He feels bad. He really does. They both got emotional and now they have to deal with it. Or not. Because they’re so not dealing with this right now.

Tom knows Libby's mad at him. But to be fair, she didn’t stop him. He didn’t force her to do anything. He’s sure she knows that too. That’s why they’re not talking on their way back.

Or they haven’t yet, because now Libby stops in the field and turns around, almost making Tom walk straight into her. He catches himself before he can cause any damage, though.

They stare at each other, Libby breathing heavily, and Tom does his best to keep his focus on her face and not her rapidly heaving chest. Focus.

“Why did we do that? Why are we always so fucking stupid, Tom?” she shouts. Before he can even think of an answer, Libby's eyes widen. What now? “Did you fucking plan this? Did you?”

“Whoa.” Tom holds up his hands, almost in defence mode. She always tended to slap his biceps whenever he made a stupid comment. He can’t even begin to think what sleeping with her in a barn would make her do. “Of course, I didn’t plan it. I wanted you to relax and get out of the flat. I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

Libby huffs. “Hm.”

“I’m sorry that it happened. We shouldn't have let it get that far.”

“Are you? Sorry that it happened?”

What does she want him to say now? What should he say? But that’s such a media world thing to think, isn’t it? This is Libby. This isn’t about what he should say to not make her mad. Or to do exactly that. She knows him. He can’t lie to her, not in the long run. He’s realised that these last couple of days.

“I think it was wrong. We made everything way more complicated than it’s been anyway.” Libby nods, but he continues. “But I think we both wanted it in the moment. And we needed an out.” Tom shrugs. “Maybe we should have shouted at each other instead.”

Libby rolls her eyes, but Tom can see a small grin before she turns around again to walk on. “Don’t make me laugh, Tom. We fucked up.” He opens his mouth as he walks behind her, but she beats him to it. “Shut up.”

“If it helps,” he starts after a moment, and he sees Libby hesitating for a moment, before she straightens and continues to walk, “I’m sorry that I’ve put you in such a position. I hope you know that.” And by god, does he hope Libby knows it’s not just this situation he’s talking about. But everything.

Tom almost doesn’t see her nod, but he catches it in the last minute. They don’t talk anymore for the rest of the walk, but when they reach Libby's flat, she turns around to face him.

“I hope you know I’m sorry, too.” Tom opens his mouth to say something, asking what exactly she means. But maybe he knows what she's saying without her talking about it. Just like the other way round. “I think we both know what we’ve done wrong, don’t we?”

He swallows. “Seems like we do.”

* * *

The good-bye in front of her door is awkward as hell, and after giving the most pathetic wave, Beth rushes through her door and locks it before Tom has the chance to comment on it.

If she imagined having a hard time falling asleep tonight before, now she’s positive she won’t close her eyes for even a bit.

How stupid can two people actually be? The situation was bad enough this morning, and now they’ve managed to make it even worse.

Beth feels dirty. Not just physically because she’s just had sex in a barn, but also emotionally. She had sex with Tom, for the first time in who knows how long, because they hadn’t been alright for a while, even before Tom didn’t make it back from Hollywood. She had sex with Tom, who’s only here in Oxford to make her sign the papers. So he can get married again.

For fuck’s sake. Tom’s going to get married again. He’s cheated on someone – on his fiancée – with her. With his ex-wife. Well, technically speaking, she's still his wife. He’s been with her first. Julia came after her.

God, she's horrible. Before Beth can talk herself into making any more excuses for her behaviour – though although maybe Tom is right and they really had to get it out of their systems – she rushes to the bathroom and into the shower.

While she cleans herself up, she’s desperately trying not to think about why she needs this shower now. It’s because she just had sex with Tom, can still feel his fingers on every part of her body and him still inside her. Also, the barn wasn’t as tidy as it once was and they did a fair amount of dirty things.  
See? Her brain won’t let her shut up, she’s clearly not made for ‘let’s get it out of our systems’-sex.

Beth’s fingers wander, and for a moment she wonders what would be, if Tom was still here with her. In her flat, in her shower. With his fingers that have just touched her not even an hour ago.

As she touches herself for a short time, Beth stiffens and stops. This is ridiculous. This is horrible. She rushes through washing her hair and cleaning up, then quickly gets dried up and dressed for the night. It’s going to be an early night, but it’s not like she’s got something else to do. And if she can’t sleep anyway, she can at least get comfortable.

Maybe a book would do her some good. But before Beth can even grab her copy of Wuthering Heights – yes, she’s in that mood tonight – her phone rings.

Damn it all, not again. How many more horrible things can possibly happen to her today? Is it Tom? Is it someone from the media? Did someone else say something horrible about her?

All those thoughts disappear and Beth breathes a sigh of relief when she sees the number and the name on the display.

“Sophie,” she mumbles, and before she knows what’s happening, the sobs and tears start.

“Hey, Darling. We didn’t know when to call you. How are you today?”

“I don’t know—,“ Beth starts, and she can hear a little gasp at the other end of the line.

“Oh, Hun. I’m so sorry, I should have called earlier.”

“I wasn’t home.”

“Oh?” There's a slight pause. “Uhm, aren’t there any more paps in front of your door?”

“I didn’t... I wasn’t at the front door.” By now, Beth is curled up on her couch, the voice of one of her best friends calming her down considerably. “Sophie? I fucked up.”

* * *

Tom hasn’t slept. At all. He came home to James's house, again through every possible backyard and secret little path he could find and remember. His dad was in the kitchen, greeting him with a look only a parent could muster. As if he knew exactly what Tom had been up to. It made his skin itch and his cheek burn like they’d gone up in flames.

James didn’t really know what had happened. Surely. Did he smell like sex, though? Or did he smell of Libby?

It didn’t matter though, because before James even said something, Tom just shook his head and went to his room.

He’s still in there now, twelve hours later. Though he won’t go running today, he's considering getting up anyway. What else is there to do?

Julia’s going to arrive this morning, and while Tom’s been thinking about how he’s going to deal with Libby from now on (he’s settled on ‘Not at all’), it only now dawns on him that he'll have to face his fiancée.

How though? Because hell if he has any idea of how she’ll react to him. He doesn’t even know how he wants her to. Well. Obviously, she should still be fine with marrying him. More than fine. He wants to marry that woman. And in a way, now it’s easier, right? No more secrets between them. Okay, apart from that last afternoon with Libby. But they’ve agreed on needing an out, and that’s it.

He’ll apologise profusely, and he won’t mention sex. Then he should be good.

* * *

Tom’s not good at all, now two hours later with a car and a driver in front of his father’s house and his fiancée getting out of it.

Greeted and followed by flashes and shouts from photographers, Julia lets her driver take out her bags – it’s three, Tom’s got no idea why – and comes to the house.

She sent Tom a text before, telling him to open the door for her and greet her with a kiss. Nothing easier than that. He does just that when Julia is close enough, and he’s almost blinded by the lights and deaf from the shouts of “Hey Tom!”.

He refrains from waving, instead opting for ignoring the paps outside and focusing on Julia in front of him. She lifts a brow and then smiles as Tom leans down to kiss her.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles without moving his lips too much. Something he’s mastered after years of Hollywood red carpets.

“Not here,” is all Julia whispers back, and the ice in her voice betrays the smile on her face.

They smile at each other, before Tom opens the door further, making room for Julia to pass him. Tom takes the bags from the driver and thanks him with a handshake, sure that the tips will be provided at the end of Julia’s stay in England. He for sure hasn’t seen the last of that man.

Inside, Tom’s nerves are back in full force, if they’ve even been gone in the first place.  
From the living-room his dad enters the corridor, a smile on his face, and his hand already outstretched as he makes his way over to Julia. 

“I’m James Hiddleston,” he introduces himself. “Tom’s father.”

Julia’s lips twitch a bit, but the broad smile from before has vanished. “Julia Simons,” she answers as she shakes the hand. And then doesn’t say anything else as she lets go.

“Nice to meet you, I’ve heard a lot about you.”  
Well, that’s a lie. Tom hasn’t said much about Julia. At least not to his family.

“Tom didn’t talk a lot about his family.” At least, she’s honest.

“Oh, I can imagine.” James smiles politely and then shares a look with Tom. “I’ll leave you both to it,” he says. “Maybe you can show her around, I bet she’s tired, and you clearly have a lot to talk about.”

Tom feels like he’s 14, bringing his first girlfriend home. Yay, him. He blushes, rolls his eyes and then picks up two of Julia’s bags to carry them upstairs. “Come on,” he mutters and heads up the stairs.

Tom can feel James still standing in the corridor when the door to his room closes behind him and Julia.

“So,” he starts, “this is my old room. Almost exactly like I left it. Old, sentimental man, my dad.”

Tom shifts a bit as Julia doesn’t respond. Instead, she moves through the room, touching a book here and a lamp there.

“Hm,” she mumbles, “nice. I want to meet Elizabeth.”

Tom almost chokes and swallows his own tongue. “Uhm, excuse me?”

“I want to meet her. Maybe be seen with her. I’m obviously okay with this since I’ve known for a while.”

“You...” Tom shakes his head and sits down on his bed, Julia still walking through his room as if she’s really interested in seeing how 14-year-old Tom used to live when he wasn’t away at boarding school. Maybe she even is, and he’s doing her wrong by thinking she seems a bit cold. Which he would understand. He’s been keeping this from her for way too long.

“I’ve known for a while, as far as the media is concerned,” she says as she turns to him. “Or do you want the world to think you’ve been lying to not just them, but everyone in your life these past years? I’m actually not even surprised you hid this. I mean, an ex-wife in a small English town isn’t exactly Hollywood now, is it? There’s so little glamour here.”

Julia’s right. Of course, she is, Tom knows so himself. This is probably the least glamourous place he’s been in since making it in Hollywood. Not counting remote shooting locations of course.

But still Tom can’t help but feel offended by Julia’s dismissal of his hometown. Sure, he hasn’t been here since filming Thor, but that’s not the town’s fault. Not by far. That’s just him and his stupid fear of facing past friends and past loves.

The realisation almost makes him jump up, but he catches himself and just shifts on his bed, rubbing his neck.

Julia stares at him anyway. “You’re not mad at me for saying that, are you? Maybe you should be happy I’m even here.”

Tom nods. “I am. Happy that is. Thank you for not breaking up with me. And I am sorry. I didn’t want to lie to you. I was just... ashamed in the beginning. And then not telling you got a little out of hand and Libby just didn’t want to sign those bloody papers, so I came here.”

Tom’s standing now, moving closer to Julia. “I want to marry you. I need to marry you.”

His fiancée smiles a bit, then furrows her brow. “Does she want money?”

“Hm?” Tom’s so close now, he just grabs Julia’s hands and pulls her to him. She doesn’t protest, instead wrapping her arms around his waist.

“Elizabeth. Does she want money? Maybe she’ll sign then.”

Again, Tom is offended. This time on Libby’s behalf. How easy this would have been, if Libby was the type of woman you throw money at and then get your will.

He shakes his head. “No. No, she doesn’t want money.”

“Huh.” She moves closer still, her head resting on Tom’s chest. “We could still offer.”

“But we won't,” he states firmly. “She'll be furious. She's not like that.” Tom kisses her head. “I can guarantee that.”

“Okay. I think it’s time to meet her, isn’t it?”

* * *

On the list of stupid things Beth has done in the past week this doesn’t even take the top spot. And that’s saying something.

“Are you sure about this?” Sophie asks her as they both take off their sun glasses before entering the pub they’ve been in the week before. Just that this time it’s barely past 3 p.m. and they’re both followed by a storm of paps and greeted by another group. Tom and Julia must already be here then.

Sophie’s a saint for going through this with her, Beth thinks not for the first time since they’ve both left her flat. She didn’t even hesitate to agree when Beth asked her to meet Tom and his fiancée with her.

“Sure, I’ll spit in her French sparkling water,” she’s said and Beth had to dig very deep in her morals to tell her that that would not be an option.

Tom’s text started with ‘I’m sorry’ confirming Beth's suspicion when her phone beeped. Julia wants to meet, and she wants to meet quite publicly to ensure everyone – the media – that all is fine and everybody's friends. Those aren’t the words Tom used, but Beth isn’t stupid despite her never visiting Hollywood herself.

“No,” Beth finally answers Sophie’s question as they both search for the two familiar faces and then sigh simultaneously when they spot them. “But I guess it’s better to face this sooner rather than later.”

She's suspected the greeting to be frosty, but Beth almost chokes when first Julia and then Tom give her and Sophie a hug and a warm ‘hello’. What the hell? A glance at her best friend confirms that this is not what she suspected, either.

“It’s so nice to finally meet you properly,” the tall, beautiful woman in front of her laughs. “Tom’s told me so much about you. Good that our schedules finally match.”

Behind Julia, Beth can see Tom’s pleading eyes. He looks just as uncomfortable as Beth and Sophie, but he hides it when Julia turns around and looks at him.

His “It’s great to have you both here,” meets Beth's ears at the same time as Sophie mumbles a shocked, “What the fuck,” next to her.

And then Julia ushers both friends to the table in the back, sitting as close to Tom as possible without climbing on his lap.

“Sit, sit,” she urges. “You just have to tell me everything about you that Tom hasn’t told me yet. I’m so excited to get to know you.”


End file.
